


You Can Pick My Lock

by Backwardshirt



Category: Bleach
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fighting Equals Flirting, Grimmjow in a gigai, Grimmjow isn't much better, Hair-pulling, Ichigo is thirsty, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Slight Choking, Touch-Starved, Touching, bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27348313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backwardshirt/pseuds/Backwardshirt
Summary: Grimmjow has been staying Urahara's for six months healing, his body in one of those famous gigai's. Ichigo stops by pretty often, to check on, watch, or otherwise pester the ex-espada and the household he currently resides in. Urahara doesn't seem to mind, in fact he enjoys having him around, teaching Ichigo some different skills. This time it was lockpicking. How and why Urahara learned, Ichigo didn't think he wanted to know.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo, Shihouin Yoruichi/Urahara Kisuke
Comments: 28
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! So this is my first fic in literal years! I hope you enjoy!

“ Ah~~ the first real test of your newest skills.” Urahara chuckled behind his fan, waving it softly, blond hair briefly moving with the self-made wind. Ichigo scoffed.

“Real test, my ass. Besides this is your fault anyway. Don’t you own a spare key?” Cradling two small silver tools between thumb and index finger of each hand, Ichigo worked the lock with all the precision of a kindergartner jamming the wrong end of a pencil into a pencil sharpener.

“True, but you’ve never really listened to me before, and Tessai won’t tell me where he hid it,” the blond said with a slight pout, watching the other man work. Well, try at least. His moves were pretty clumsy, having had maybe three half-assed lessons before Urahara got bored. “You’re not doing a very good job~~~”

Ichigo quirked an eyebrow. He was gonna take that damned fan and shove it so far up—

“What t’hell is goin’ on out here?” a gruff voice asked as it kicked the door from the other side, breaking the lock…as well as the frame. One pick sailed into the alleyway, probably never to be seen again in this life. The shopkeeper jumped away as the door flew open, top hinge hanging precariously by a single screw  
.  
“Oh Grimmjow, you’re awake!” Urahara said as he inspected the shattered frame with nimble fingers, poignantly ignoring Ichigo flailing, squished behind the now open door. Halfway hiding his face behind the fan, Urahara made a note to reinforce the broken area…and possibly reduce the ex-Espada’s strength in his gigai while he slept. Grimmjow jammed his silver-tipped boot on the other side of the door, holding it in place over Ichigo.

“Oi, Kurosaki. What t’hell are ya doin’ back there?”

Ichigo thought about shoving the hooked end of his remaining pick up his nose and scrambling his brain around like a mummy. At least he thought that was accurate, trying to remember from that old documentary on how mummies were made. He was half asleep, half listening to Yuzu’s whining about having to watch something so gross, and why couldn’t she watch her cooking show instead. He hazily remembered saying something about school, not because he didn’t want to lose a bet to Ishida…again.  
“By the look of things, contemplating a heinous crime he’d never actually commit.” Urahara sing-songed somewhere to his left, knocking him out of his murderous stupor. Ichigo kicked out his foot like an idiot in a lame attempt to connect to something substantial. Damn his human body with slightly above average human strength. He felt it connect to something. He kicked again.

“Do that one more time and I’ll bite your damn toes off.”Grimmjow said, jostling the door from the other side with what Ichigo assumed was one big-ass foot. Seriously, what was he a size sixteen? He palmed the door and pushed back with both hands, trying to trip the other man up.

“Figured you’d have a foot fetish,” Ichigo hissed, pressing the door harder. Grimmjow cursed on the other side.

“Tch, I’d rather be dead.”

“Well have I got news for you then,” Ichigo bit back.

It had been six whole months since he defeated Yhwach, and while things had quieted down somewhat, they were nowhere near peaceful; not with the blue-haired ex-espada living in Urahara’s shop, house, whatever, in one of Urahara’s gigai’s. He had taken the brunt of the poison—nearly killed him. Good thing he had that emergency gigai…whatever that meant. Emergency and Urahara were two words Ichigo didn’t ever want to hear in the same sentence for the next two hundred years.

He had taken to the gigai better than Ichigo had initially thought he would, or at least appeared too. ‘Course he couldn’t put up much of a fight in the beginning, and whatever weird-ass deal Urahara had offered was still apparently on the table. Maybe this was the deal? Letting him torment Ichigo for the rest of his days? It sounded like something he’d agree too. He didn’t particularly want an inward glance at the sandal wearing perverts internal thoughts—figured he be scarred for the rest of his life and well into the soul society. Ichigo was sure he didn’t want to know.

Of course Urahara had goaded Ichigo into babysitting the arrancar every chance he could, shuffling the responsibility off on him any chance the man could get. Teach him human things. Ichigo snorted; not likely. Not that he minded all that much. Ichigo knew he’d rather be doing that than cooped up in his room with _feelings_ , twiddling his thumbs like a complete moron. Urahara had known too.

_No no no my dear Ichigo. You’re simply visiting him. It’s not like Nelliel can, or even would visit right now with the rebuilding and shakiness of the treaty being formed. He needs a friend…unless you’re into watching of course, Kiskue said, not bothering to hide his pervy smile behind that fan made of sin and bad vibes._

Grimmjow abruptly took his foot off, and Ichigo pressing with full force in his human body, still very much caught in the memory, launched the door into the stratosphere. Or the adjoining alley way, whichever was closest, Ichigo thought bitterly as he landed like a sack of shit face first in the dirt. Grimmjow barked out a laugh.

“If you like eatin’ dirt that much Kurosaki, I’d be happy to feed ya some more!”

Ichigo thought about stuffing a handful of glass down his throat, but he’d probably enjoy it.

“Pffff, is that what you dream about? Fetish for feet and feeding me?” Ichigo sneered, picking himself off the ground and wiping dirt from his face and crinkling up his nose. It felt like he just snorted up a line of cocaine, if cocaine was actually the dirt in front of Urahara’s shady candy store. On second thought, there may very well be cocaine in it; Urahara was definitely a wild card.

“Why you little—"

“Alright now boys,” Urahara said, patting both of their shoulders. Grimmjow swatted at his hand like he still had claws. Urahara didn’t bat an eye, clamping his hand down lightly on both men’s shoulders. “Let’s save this little spat for later, when I’m helping Jinta with math homework and getting drunk. Are you staying for dinner tonight Ichigo?”  
Ichigo glared at Grimmjow who was all to happy to return it, as well as raise a middle finger to him. _Fuck you_. He mouthed. _You wish,_ Grimmjow mouthed back. Ichigo turned his head away, trying to hide his reddening cheeks.

“Shouldn’t you be sober for math homework?” Ichigo said, shrugging off the unwanted hand on his shoulder, still not looking at Grimmjow.

Urahara let out a slight laugh. “I have to be drunk to understand half of it!” He chirped while pushing both men through the newly made archway. “I’m a man of science, but once multiple letters get involved with the numbers, I wish for bitter sake and sweet, sweet death.” Ichigo’s shoulder bumped up against Grimmjow’s with Urahara’s man-handling and he pushed them past a shelf of over-priced and probably stale candy. Why Yuzu liked those little gummy candies, he had no idea.

“Big mood.” Ichigo muttered, remembering the twins asking for similar help a week ago. Between Ichigo and his father, they were able to do a decent job of helping, but there was a lot of whining and crying involved. Mainly from Isshin.

“Will you quit pushing? I’ve been able to walk for a couple years now.” Urahara’s hand dropped from his back.

“Have fun, you two! I must go and see about repairing my poor door. And Grimmjow, this will be coming out of your salary. Next time try opening it instead of beating it into submission; I don’t think it’s into that sort of thing anyway.” Wooden shoes clacking against the floor turned and began to inspect the frame. He still had a stupid smile plastered on his stubbly face. Ichigo briefly wondered if he could actually grow a beard proper, or was that all he could muster? Then again, picturing Urahara with a Santa beard sent a shiver down Ichigo’s spine.

Grimmjow _humphed_ and walked farther into the adjoining room.

“I don’t even like celery.” Ichigo spun his head towards blue, did he just hear him right? Out of their little exchange, that’s what he picked up on? And did it…kinda wrong? Ichigo was almost endeared to the sentiment of Grimmjow’s hearing being not as good in his human gigai. He tried to bite back his laugh, but it didn’t quite work. Grimmjow shot him another glare.

“ _Salary_ not _celery_ , you dumbass.” There were some differences between the gigai and his actual self, obviously, but he didn’t’ expect hearing to be one of them. “Money. Not…vegetables?” Ichigo briefly forgot what celery actually was instead of a cold stick of tasteless sadness. Unless it had peanut butter on it. That was the shit. That was a problem for later though he decided.

“Tch, not like I actually get paid.” Grimmjow’s blue eyes were narrowed, glaring daggers at where Ichigo assumed Urahara was. “And who are you calling a dumbass, you dumbass piece o’shit Shinigami not knowing what a celery is.” Ichigo was pretty sure Grimmjow didn’t actually know what ‘a celery’ was, but he was insulted that he, a human, was implied to not know what a human vegetable was.

“I know what celery is!”

“Didn’t seem too sure a minute ago.”

“Are your arguments always this stupid?” a female voice asked from the doorless doorway. Ichigo swung around and was face to face with Karin. Well, face to like…mid-chest really, she was still growing. At least, according to her.

“They’re usually worse.” Urahara chirped from the other room.

Ichigo refused the heat that rose to his face not for the first time today, and rolled his eyes. Grimmjow could get him worked up about the stupidest shit, and now he was gonna have to kill Urahara and give Karin amnesia for hearing that dumb spat.

“What do you want?”

“Figured you’d forget.” She shot him a glare, a baby sneer curling on her top lip. “Soccer practice. You said you’d help, remember?”  
Ichigo frowned, celery forgotten as was his promise to the black-haired teenager before him. She had her shoulder length hair tied back in a high pony-tail. How did she know he’d be at Urahara’s anyway? Did she have his phone number? Did Urahara give Karin his phone number?  
He knew Yuzu was here more than he liked, but that’s only because of that candy, and not because of Jinta. Urahara once mentioned he always embedded hers with enough reishi to help her see him when he was in his Shinigami form. Genius thought of everything. Ichigo glanced at the shoji doors using to separate the rooms, listening for the clunking footsteps of the wooden-shoed bastard; the floor creaked in reply.

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that Karin. How about a rain—”  
SMACK.  
Ball square in the face, right where his nose used to be, before it was pressed into the back of his skull by a demon with a black and white checkered ball of teenage angst and hate. Big oof. Ichigo supposed he deserved that. Grabbing the ball between his hands, eyebrow twitching and a small trickle of blood coming out of his nose, he smiled a toothy grin, eye twitching.

“I’m gonna punt you into the goalie net myself!”

  
He briefly caught a glance at Urahara as he chased Karin through the doorway; not bothering to cover his cheeky grin with his bastard fan.

__________________________________

Ichigo ran at a pace he knew Karin would win by a slight margin. He considered it a warmup to warming up. Not that it stopped him from half-way tackling her to the ground once they reached the grassy practice field. The sun was lower now, setting the sky aflame in an array of red, orange, and yellows. Purple and blue splashed navy would come in an hour or so. Ichigo grabbed at her ankles as he slid slightly on the ground, catching her by a shoelace. He was rewarded with a stomp to his fingers and a womans size seven.  
“You’re such a dick, Ichi-nii,” Karin said, sticking out her tongue at him. He wanted to cry at the nickname; Yuzu was the only one who called him that regularly anymore, and it made him all warm and fuzzy. Apparently, she still liked her brother. He pulled the shoe in close, cradling it along with his throbbing fingers, waiting until she was right in front of him. Ichigo cackled at the sight of her, deep scowl set on her face, and pulled his arm back.

“Don’t you dare--!”

Ichigo chucked the shoe as hard as he could at the goalie net, half the field away. Hell, his aim was pretty spot on. Karin shrieked, letting a colorful stream of curses escape her as her shoe sailed past her head off towards the net. She aimed a kick at his groin for good measure, which Ichigo blocked without an issue, before trotting off to retrieve it. It was then he noticed two things.

One, Karin brought her goon squad along, probably the same ones she played with in middle school. Afro, Mustache Head, Shaved, and Glasses. He briefly remembered Toshiro off-handily saying something about playing soccer with her once as well. They’d probably been there from the start and watched the whole embarrassing episode. Screw that, Ichigo thought. He could act like that with his sister and not be embarrassed. They were crowding over to her anyway. Maybe they hadn’t noticed him at all.

And two, Ichigo apparently, and almost unaware, had brought…well, he wasn’t sure what he’d call the muscular, blue-haired bastard at this point. Frenemy? Favorite person to irritate? Ex-furry wannabe? He certainly didn’t bring him along…followed? Chased?

Even worse, Ichigo realized, he witnessed his weird attempt at torment/affection with Karin. Internally groaning, he spared the stalking arrancar a glace. Grimmjow had on a blue sleeveless shirt, and a pair of dark gray joggers, showing off his thick, trunk-like legs, and veined, muscular arms. He had more bulk muscle than Ichigo, who’s DNA dictated him to have a slightly leaner build. Not that he minded of course; it almost made Ichigo drool like some everyday horny almost 20-year-old if he wasn’t a gentleman who didn’t think sinful things…very often, thank you very much. Black boots with silver tips, shone faintly in the lowering sunlight. Ugh, he looked like he’d set the sky on fire himself and was watching it burn. He looked…almost calm, except for that smirk playing with his lips, but Ichigo shook his head and stood, turning back to Karin.  
She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, for a brief moment, Ichigo could’ve sworn she was quite pleased with the look she definitely shouldn’t have seen on his face. He made a mental note to noogie her later until her hair was the size of her Afro headed friend. Maybe Yuzu would help. She owed him one for the math help, that and shooing their annoying father away before he could tackle them all in some group affection activity they’d all hate. Well, Yuzu wouldn’t, but she knew her family well. Suddenly he was surrounded by weird hairstyles and voice-cracks.

“Wow, you must be the one and only Ichigo!” mustache hair said.  
“We’ve never met but you’re my hero~~”  
“Can you deadlift me?”  
“Wow your hair’s so cooooolll”  
“Karin talks about you a lo—”

Ball to the face.

Huh. A violent pattern was emerging, Ichigo noted. She didn’t nail Mustache as hard as she had him, though. He glanced at her, crinkling up her nose in mock disgust, pink lightly twinging the tips of her ears. Aw, she loved her brother. Gross, he thought, a small smile ghosting across his face.

Ichigo lightly registered a presence behind him, until said presence was putting a size enormous boot to the back of his knee. Karin was starting to scold her friends to _shut up or I’ll cut you_. The boys looked absolutely terrified. He refused to fall, even has the pressure increased. It was just Grimmjow doing…Grimmjow things. Hell if Ichigo knew his motivations on a good day.

“Wow, who are you?”  
“Do you work out?”  
“Your hair is so cool toooo”  
“Are you one of Karin’s friends”  
“You can definitely deadlift me!”  
“Do you know anything about soccer?”  
“Are you gonna help us too?”

Every question thrown at the blue and booted ex-espada left him looking more confused. The swarm of adolescent boys immediately left Karin’s side and were drawn to Grimmjow like sweaty little moths to a dumpster-fire. He looked like he’d rather lick an electrical socket than be bombarded by all these weak human boys. He pushed against his leg once and steadied himself with both feet on the ground, teeth bared, a small snarl cutting through his throat.

“Easy guys,” Karin said, snapping the boys out of their amazement of their most unfortunate new role model. “He’s Ichigo’s, not mine.” Ichigo noticed a twitch in Grimmjow’s skinny little eyebrows as the unintended possessiveness, and he snarled a little more.

Ichigo made a final note to go easy on the promised noogie. The boys continued to gaze in amazement at Grimmjow while he just stood there, incredibly uncomfortable in all his blue haired glory. Karin started to drag them away, over to the goalie net where a bag full of soccer balls sat. It wasn’t the attention, he thought, that made him uncomfortable. At least, he didn’t think it was. Hell, it was usually the opposite.

In the past six months that Ichigo had gotten to know Grimmjow better, or tried, he had learned a couple things. Grimmjow thrived on attention. Ichigo assumed that was the cat part of his hollow, not that he had any experience with cats. Whether it was just loitering around in his peripheral, ruffling Ichigo’s metaphorical feathers with weird things he’d heard from Urahara, asking no…demanding a fight in the training bunker, damn well knowing he wasn’t getting out of that gigai any time soon, or, once, when he was exhausted and still very much not himself from the poison, and after a half real, half play fight, flopping across him and taking a brief nap. A cat nap, Ichigo thought, the barest hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. At the time, Ichigo was confused more than anything else, and just let him; he wasn’t even sure Grimmjow remembered it, since it happened the first month he came to Urahara’s, poison still very much in his system.

The second was that he didn’t hate physical contact as much as Ichigo thought he would. Sure, at first there were a few threats of great bodily harm. Ichigo sparred with him occasionally, especially when Grimmjow seemed frustrated with his situation. Was he mad he couldn’t do as much damage in his gigai? A few well-placed kicks and punches and Ichigo was bleeding all the same. But it wasn’t just in fights. Casual contact was getting easier. He didn’t swat him away as much anymore, which made Ichigo secretly happy. He’d also been contemplating a way to get his fingers in that blue hair of his. It looked so soft. Every time he thought he saw an opening, he chickened out like a big, blue-balled coward.

“What are you lookin’ at, Kurosaki?” growled right in his ear. Ichigo took a slight step back, not realizing he’d gotten so close, so quickly. When did he look away? Or was he just so focused on his thoughts he just glazed his eyes over like some little fangirl trying to keep a secret and failing miserably. He’d been having a hard time focusing lately, with lack of sleep, and too much espada too close too quickly. It was quite the irritating combination.

  
“What are you doing here, Grimmjow?” Ichigo glanced at the other man. Grimmjow quirked an eyebrow at him, like he was an idiot, and shifted his stance, scratching an itch on one leg with a booted foot. Stretching his arms above his head like he just completely woke up that instant, Ichigo let his eyes wander to the slight ride of the other’s shirt, giving the barest glimpse of a nice V on slightly paler skin. He looked away to his sister, steeling himself; Karin was busy giving orders to her slave—er, friends. She had those four wrapped around her fingers.

“You started runnin’,” he said, shrugging, like that was supposed to explain everything, snarl disappearing from his face as soon as those boys were preoccupied with something else. Ichigo rolled his eyes so far back he saw Zangetsu wave.

“Whatever.” Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about Girmmjow’s thrill of the chase instinct. He needed to focus on the best way to painlessly castrate mustache hair with the soccer ball, with the way he seemed to be fawning over Karin. Too bad she was kind of oblivious to it. Poor kid, Ichigo thought. He could relate.  
Sparing a final glace at Grimmjow, who now looked bored as hell, Ichigo jogged over to the group of teenagers. He was here, so he minus well give them a good workout. They formed a line as Ichigo got closer to them, a ball between each of their feet.

He started them off by having them keep the ball in the air. Ichigo made them juggle the ball in the air for three minutes or so, getting their feet and legs all warmed up. Then he set up some small orange cones the boys brought, and moved onto passing drills. He noticed Grimmjow stare in interest for a couple minutes before he wandered off to the side of the field near the only tree. Looks like Ichigo would have an audience.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo helps Karin and her friends with soccer practice. Well, he's trying, even though he's pretty distracted by a certain blue-haired arrancar watching from the sidelines. Things to awry pretty quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for part 2!

They’d been at it for at least an hour or so, and while the day had cooled off significantly with the setting sun, Ichigo still found himself covered in sweat. Peeling off his shirt and wiping his forehead perspiration away with it, he tossed it to the side and looked around the grassy field. There was only one tree on the sidelines, leaves fading to red in the cooling autumn days. Ichigo liked autumn, things felt slower to him, and he didn’t mind that in the slightest. He was mostly enjoying the slower pace life had taken on recently. Of course, he was still purifying the rare hollow that entered into his domain of Karakura, but with their absolute decimation in the Quincy mess, and the treaty being hashed out still, hollows were less frequent. Most days Ichigo was completely fine with that, but other days….

Ichigo spotted Grimmjow perched on the lowest branch of the tree, one leg swinging slightly, arms behind his head. He looked pretty content, as far as he could tell.

Something brushed up against his stomach and Ichigo stiffened.

“You look like you could bench press all of us at the same time.” Afro said with awe struck stars in his weird little eyes, finger poking the hard muscle of his abdomen. Ichigo made a face. What was this kids obsession with getting lifted? Was it some weird kind of like…baby kink or something? He was too young for something like that! Outrageous! Karin’s friends were kinda strange, not that he had any room to talk. They were crowding around him again now, looking at his body like he was on display at some museum.

“You’re ripped man!” Ichigo chuckled inwardly, he liked Glasses. Afro poked his stomach one more time, a big dumb smile on his face. Ichigo tensed slightly; the kid was just admiring, no need to be grouchy, he told himself, although he wasn’t a fan of stranger contact, even if the stranger was younger, weaker, and _much_ stranger. 

“You’ve got a six pack.” Alright, the finger could poke some more, he guessed.

“I bet they could bottle your sweat and sell it.” Aaaaand that one would get along with Urahara _very_ well, he thought, raising his eyebrow at mustache hair. Why couldn’t a normal boy like his sister? It was bad enough Jinta, in all his red-headed fury, was half in love with Yuzu, and now some kid with Mr. Mustaches facial hair glued to his dumb little teenage head was unsuccessfully trying to get into Ichigo’s good graces by saying weird shit.

Karin wacked everyone in the head, shushing them.

“What’d you hit me for you little shit?” Ichigo huffed, glaring at her.

“We need to focus! We’ve only got a little bit before it’s too dark to practice, and you’re getting everyone distracted!” The boys didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm, and instead decided it was time for an impromptu wrestling match between Mustache and Afro, who yelled something about grass eating before he was nearly suplexed into the ground. Karin was not impressed to say the least. _Looks like practice is over anyway,_ he thought.

While they were distracted, Ichigo took the opportunity to jog over to Grimmjow, leg still swinging in the air. His eyes were open and watching, unimpressed with whatever the hell he just saw and heard.

“Tch, you humans are strange.” Ichigo heard him mutter. He didn’t bother telling him that he was no better than a human in that gigai. Grimmjow knew that, and telling him so was only gonna get his big booted foot in his mouth. The silver part would chip a tooth, Ichigo was sure of it. He’s been thinking about Grimmjow’s feet a lot recently. _Maybe I’m the one with the fetish_.

Nope not the time for this shit again. He’d pencil in that little crisis for later, between wallowing in horrified confusion about the future and placing bets on what awful thing Urahara would want next, preferably when he was alone in his room. Maybe he could talk to Kon about it.

“Do you know how to play?” Ichigo asked, grabbing him lightly by the ankle. Grimmjow shook him off, aiming a kick at his orange head. It didn’t take much effort to dodge.

“Tch. Dumbass.”

_Fair point_ , he thought. Didn’t hurt to ask, he supposed. He didn’t know how much of his before life he recalled.

“Wana learn?” If Grimmjow was just gonna sit in a tree watching him like blue haired goblin, he could at least be moving around. Hell, it might be fun, good for him even, to get some of that human…gigai…blood…stuff pumping through him. Exercise and getting sweaty. It was a good opportunity, Ichigo rationalized, licking his lips slightly. Not a way to get Grimmjow to get all hot and heaving and take his shirt off, showing off a sweaty, muscular chest. Nope not at all. Ichigo shook those thoughts out of his head. _Bad Ichigo. Bad. No desert for you tonight._

He caught the tail end of laughter and yelling behind him, bringing him to slightly more PG rated thoughts. Like what the hell was Karin saying?

“—watch this.” Oh boy.

“Hey Ichigo!” His shoulders stiffened slightly, this better not be what he thought it was gonna be. She had mentioned doing it once, even showed him the video. In no uncertain terms, Ichigo said _absolutely not_. His face heated from pre-emptive embarrassment already. Damn Karin and her damn memes. He looked Grimmjow dead in his almost glowing blue eyes. Teenagers were the absolute _worst._

“God has abandoned this timeline.” He said dryly. Blue eyes narrowed in confusion, but Ichigo turned anyway, around to see Karin’s face splitting into a gremlin grin. _No food after midnight for you_ _either you demon._

She swung her leg back suddenly to get a boost of momentum, black ponytail swishing behind her with the sudden jarring movement and kicked forward so hard Ichigo was half surprised the ball didn’t pop.

“THIS BITCH EMPTY” Karin shrieked, giggling as she sent the ball spinning, spinning straight the bullseye Ichigo apparently applied on his face this morning in invisible ink. _Damn she’s got good aim._ Ichigo crouched slightly, poised for the moment he knew Karin was waiting for. Her friends were howling at this point. Mustache looked like he wanted Karin to kick him next.

Damn her and her damn stupid meme, video, tik tok, shit he didn’t know. The internet was a bad place full of nightmares, porn, and the hellscape wasteland called youtube. If robots rose to take over the planet, Ichigo was pretty sure that’d be one war he’d lose. He could barely keep up with a stupid online class he signed up for in a brief moment of optimism because he couldn’t make technology his bitch no matter how hard he tried. Fire was bad, computers were evil, and Google was a witch.

He gave Karin exactly what she wanted anyway. _Because I’m a damn good brother you’re welcome damnit._

Ichigo caught the ball right before it nailed him in the face, planning to spin around and throw it aimlessly with great force.

“YEET”

Unfortunately, Ichigo slipped in the dewing grass, and instead of the ball getting thrown off into the atmosphere, he missed. And clocked Grimmjow right in his stupid muscular chest. He let out a small sound of surprise and promptly lost his grip on the tree, falling out of the tree in a heap, one leg sticking straight up in the air as his back hit the wet grass below. 

_Guess cats don’t always land on their feet._

Ichigo remembered something Orihime showed him once on her phone, a picture of a cat with buttered bread strapped to its back, spinning infinitely as it never hit the ground. He then tried to imagine the same scenario with Grimmjow snarling in a never-ending circle, buttered bread duct taped on the back of his jacket where he couldn’t reach, whirling around and around like a horizontal tornado, and cracked up with horrible, gleeful laughter.

“You’re fuckin’ dead, Kurosaki.” He heard through his howling laughter. Damn he needed to get a decent nights rest. He was losing his damn mind. It wasn’t even that funny!

“I’m so—” more laughter, he could hear Karin and her group laughing too, this probably wasn’t going to end well. “So sorry….I didn’t—didn’t mean…grass is wet—”

Aaaand ball to his skull. Again. Man, the only action he was getting these days was from soccer balls. How sad. Ichigo’s eyes were bleary from laugh-tears and pain-tears as Grimmjow hauled him up to his feet, hand on his throat. Ichigo could feel how big his hand was gripping his throat, calloused palm rubbing roughly on his Adam’s apple, fingers a mile long, digging into soft flesh. If he had his claws Ichigo was pretty sure he’d be bleeding out on the ground right about now. Hand gripped tighter, feeling blunt nails dig into the side of his neck even more. Ichigo could hardly breathe, and pushed down the awful little voice saying _this could be nice under more favorable circumstances_.

_Bad Ichigo, no desert tomorrow either._

Blazing blue eyes were mere inches from his own, angry, and full of absolute vitality. Bared fangs, snarling lip, and hot air huffing out of that sinful mouth of his. And _damn_ if it wasn’t the absolute hottest thing Ichigo had saw in a while. Besides his legs…and his arms…and…well whatever anyway. Damn stupid arrancar in a dumb stupid human body making him feel things. It would’ve knocked the air out of his lungs if Grimmjow wasn’t doing that with violence right now.

Ichigo grabbed his wrist with both hands, vision going blurry, and vigorously twisted in opposite directions quickly, creating a friction burn on his arm. Grimmjow snarled and released him; Ichigo dropped to the ground, sputtering and coughing.

“What the hell you idiot, you trying to kill me?” He sucked in a lungful of air. Grimmjow muttered a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, looking at his arm, and turned around. _Well that was uneventful._

“Damn Ichigo, that was more action you’ve got in a while, huh?” he heard Karin say in her stupid horrible voice. Grimmjow scowled at him over his shoulder and started walking off in the vague direction of Urahara’s.

“Just have him back by ten Grimm!” Ichigo facepalmed, bristling at the nickname. Karin knew Ichigo hated it; he had no idea what the other thought. Grimmjow just raised a middle finger and continued walking away. _Guess that’s my answer._ He looked over at Karin; she just waved him off and turned back to her friends.

_Well shit_

\---------------------

They made it back the rest of the way to Urahara’s in silence, save for Grimmjows heavy footsteps, not quite a stomp, but he definitely wouldn’t be making ranks in the stealth force anytime soon. Ichigo didn’t quite know what to make of it, to be honest. He’d tried apologizing, but his grumpy companion wasn’t listening. Whatever. He settled for staring at his arms and back. _Don’t look at his ass don’t look at his ass._

“I’m gonna pinch your ear if you don’t say something.” Maybe threats would get him to listen?

Grimmjow spun on his heel, Ichigo didn’t stop in time and bumped into the hard muscle of his chest. _Nice_. Ichigo rested a hand on his shoulder for balance and reached out a hand. He really wanted to run his fingers through those blue strands, see if they were as soft as they looked. He was met with a growl.

_Fair enough_. He raised his hands in surrender. Ichigo knew he should be more careful with the arrancar, as Grimmjow turned around, and kept walking. He wasn’t a pet, Ichigo definitely knew that, he just wanted…what? To pet him? Tousle his hair? _To touch him,_ Ichigo realized. More and more. And not in a sexual way, though his mind would wander to the dark side occasionally. While Grimmjow was getting better with the whole touching thing, he still didn’t really trust anyone, not that he could tell, anyway. Ichigo could understand, Hueco Mundo wasn’t exactly a place brimming with safe and casual interactions. It could make people into monsters, and while he didn’t consider Grimmjow to be one, he always kept his cards close, fangs always ready. And those eyes….

There was Nel, she was an arrancar, maybe that equated to a little bit of assumed trust? No, Ichigo shook that thought away, remembering Nnoitora, Yammy…every other arrancar he encountered those years ago. They weren’t a people that trusted. Nel had been an outlier. It wasn’t in their nature. Ichigo persisted, in his own subtle way; he _wanted_ to be his friend. Depending on the day, it was usually a little more than that, but pushing his luck in those areas never seemed to work out in Ichigo’s favor. He had given up in some of those areas, at least for a while. Romance on the battlefield only ended in blood and scars. How desperate could he be? It’s not like he didn’t have friends already. But Grimmjow…Ichigo wasn’t sure if he had anyone to turn to, and he realized not for the first time, he wanted to be that for the other man. Maybe he should say something?

They turned to the right and were back, knocking Ichigo out of his head. The door looked like it had never been through the atrocities of earlier, new hinges shining in the outside light. Was there anything Tessai couldn’t do? It looked like the lock was new too. _Maybe it would be easier to pick._ And maybe Urahara would decide Ichigo could solve his own problems instead of butting in at almost every inch of his damned life. Still, Ichigo found it hard to stay actually angry at him, with everything he’d helped them with. He kept a lot of secrets, but who wouldn’t? An open book ran the risk of pages torn, or worse—seen. Ichigo needed to keep some parts of himself, to himself…even if they were usually the worst part.

He shook his head. No. He had been in a good mood, and he wasn’t going to let himself ruin it. These are thoughts for when he’s alone, entertaining the sorest company he could find. Sometimes he’d take the near crippling loneliness over…this.

He looked away and back to his irritated companion. Who was like, three inches from his face, scowling like a loan shark out for blood. Ichigo reeled back slightly, Grimmjow kept the distance by moving forward. He could feel heat rise on his face, but thankfully the dark of evening hours concealed it…he hoped.

“For someone who doesn’t like up close and personal, you sure do it a lot.” He said lamely, putting an open palm on Grimmjows face, almost positive he would only get bit in return. They’d both agree he’d deserve it. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t swat him away.

Ichigo could feel the vibrations of his growl through his hand and rolled his eyes. It probably wasn’t a smart decision to be this close to the ex-espada, and though he was chained, metaphorically, and kinda physically right now, to his gigai, only a dumbass would take a look at his hair and fangs and think _ah yes this man is the epitome of safety_.

Not that Ichigo was a dumbass. But…Ichigo was kind of a dumbass. He watched narrow blue eyes, nearly glowing, behind his spread fingers. _Guess there’s not time like the present._ He let up some of the pressure from his hand and drug it up towards blue locks he’d been dying to touch. Ugh, it was so soft. Did he use product? Did he style it purposely like that? What did he look like with bedhead? The thought of Grimmjow with tangled, messy hair from sleeping on it weird made him warm. He gave his head a few scratches, and, not wanting to overstay his welcome, even though he could’ve stayed for the rest of his hopeless little life, he dropped his hand.

Grimmjow’s eyes were wide, but no longer predatory. Almost black in what little light Ichigo could see. Huh. Neat. Maybe he could do it again then, sometime.

His head followed as Ichigo sidestepped and went around him, opening up the door. He’d think about that later too; his night schedule was quickly filling up with his least favorite activity—thinking. Whatever.

He was sure food was ready, and Ichigo was enough of a mooch to go and see. He’d done the man enough favors he should be allowed to swallow the fridge itself.

\-----------------------

Grimmjow had listened to the orange idiot trail after him, half apologizing half explaining himself for the whole ball incident, whatever the hell that was supposed to be. _Tch._ He could still hear the laughter of all those human boys, the little black haired bitch, even Kurosaki. The embarrassment was worth it as soon as he got his hands around Kurosaki’s sweaty neck, though since he was a pervert, he looked like he enjoyed it a little. _Next time I’ll squeeze harder._

He had cooled off halfway back to Urahara’s, rolling his eyes as he only half listened to Kurosaki. He stayed away from the busier streets, not wanting to interact with more humans if he could help it. Most of them were grating on a good day, and he didn’t have too many of those with his body stuck in this damn gigai.

Watching the interaction between the little bitch, Kurosaki, and her weird gaggle of humans was enough for the rest of the day. Week. Year. And he could fuck off with whatever he did to his arm. _That_ felt weird, but also set a peculiar twinge to his gut he didn’t completely dislike.

“—come on Grimmjow—”

Grimmjow was secretly pleased he could get the ginger idiot to trail after him; he didn’t quite know what that meant, but he’d cut his tongue off before he’d admit it to anyone. Fake body’s skin was pretty sensitive, and even six months into it, he found himself missing his hierro, if only because it kept out the creeping cold. The ball hadn’t hurt, just shocked him. Hopefully not much longer, he always healed fast, but that damn Quincy bastard with his stupid poison ball….

“I’m gonna pinch your ear if you don’t say something soon.”

Grimmjow stopped and whirled around, Kurosaki’s chest bumping into his. His shoulders were broader, and had three or so inches on the other male. Kurosaki put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from turning away again, other hand reaching out for what he assumed was his ear; Grimmjow eyed his prey with a slit gaze and growled.

The idiot held his hands up in surrender, not worried in the slightest Grimmjow could still bite his throat out, his jaws were still strong, fangs lethal. Even the gigai couldn’t get rid of everything. But damn this gigai in all it’s human softness. How did literally every creature on this planet _stand_ it. He hated it. Six months healing his body and people wouldn’t _fuckin' stop touching_ him. Worse—he was getting used to the casual physical interaction like a big dumbass.

Sandals was insufferable with the touching, always a hand on his back, his arm, once he had tapped his forehead out of the blue to get his attention; Grimmjow growled internally at the thought. Cornrows was more restrained. And then there was the damn Cat Bitch, parading around in next to nothing half the time like she was claiming everything just by her presence alone. Grimmjow almost felt sorry for the two little brats living under the same roof, but they seemed used to it.

They didn’t pay him much mind, the boy tried to goad him to wrestle around on the floor a few times a week. If no one was around, he would pull in a deep sigh and allow it. Kid seemed satisfied with that, and left him alone otherwise, usually at least. He’d been getting more persistent the past couple weeks, much to Grimmjow’s frustration.

At least he could escape to the training bunker, or even the room they’d given him. Sandals promised they wouldn’t bother him if he was in there, and so far, surprisingly, he had kept his word. Which, as of late, had only made Grimmjow come out of the room more, pissing himself off to no end. If he wasn’t so damned _bored._

Irritating rising once more, he whirled around, stomping the rest of the way back to Urahara’s. He heard Ichigo sigh behind him.

He could feel the ginger’s eyes on his back as they walked in silence, shifting to his back, his arms…his ass. God, he was about a subtle as a brick to the face, not that Grimmjow had any room to talk.

When they got back, the door Grimmjow had carefully ripped off the hinges had been replaced. His ears twitched as he heard Kurosaki exhale a deep, tired breath. His mood had taken a turn, it seemed. Grimmjow had become acutely aware of these dips in mood from Kurosaki. It seemed like he could be riding a high for two or three days until it all went to shit with one thought. Those dips got on his nerves the worst, mainly because he got more touchy.

_Spiraling_ , Kiskue had called it. A side effect of fighting in two wars no other humans knew about before he was twenty. Whatever. He just called it being a little shit. Sure, there were some stains that would never come out, but that was part of it, he guessed. People died all the damn time. He was certainly no stranger to blood on his hands, but the guilt popping up every now and then recently came as a surprise. This world was turning him _soft_.

Grimmjow was hard-pressed to care, but he turned around anyway. Staring at Kurosaki, though he was definitely not seeing whatever he was looking at. He took the opportunity to get in real close, look in those dumbass honey brown eyes with small yellow-golden flecks in the outer ring because of the outside light. _Shit_ his eyes were kinda…pretty? When did _that_ happen?

Fully awake and staring right back at him, Kurosaki inhaled sharply and took a small step back. Little shit. It’s not like he would bite him. Grimmjow followed, not letting the distance expand. He felt the heat flush in Kurosaki’s stupid, frowny face.

“For someone who doesn’t like up close and personal, you sure do it a lot.”

Hand. Hand on his face. Warm hand on his face. Hands don’t belong on his face. Grimmjow let a low growl escape from his throat. He may have to take the biting comment back. What kind of moron would just touch another person’s face like this? What the fuck? If it wasn’t for this kind of shit making Kurosaki’s mood dips a little less…whatever, he would have bit him a long, long time ago. Why touching him made the other feel better, he didn’t know. And his face no less. A thumb rubbed over where his mask should be. Grimmjow’s eye twitched. If he had the bone teeth, he’d clamp them down on his fingers until his they were shredded like the shitty noodles Jinta made a few weeks ago with the little girl’s help. They tasted like rotten cabbage and bad decisions. He hated cabbage.

Then the hand that wasn’t supposed to be there moved up, and into his permanently windblown hair. The most Grimmjow ever did to it was spit in his hands and run them through his hair, that settled it enough. He liked the _I don’t give a shit_ look, mainly because it was true. Kiskue winced noticeably when he witnessed Grimmjow do it once. He hadn’t offered a handshake since.

He was gonna bite that damn hand right off that nicely tanned wrist of his. _Be one way to taste him_ , he thought absently. He’d take what he could get at this point. Then fingers moved in his hair, scratching at his scalp slightly.

All thoughts of biting were off the table immediately. _Oooohh_ no one had ever done _that_ before, not even Kiskue and his bastard fan. Shit felt _good._ And then it was gone. Ichigo stepped around him and went into the shop, leaving Grimmjow standing outside, blown pupils, ears twitching, blood going to a couple different places.

Like he hadn’t just opened him up to a whole new world Grimmjow would definitely consider exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo is about as good with tech as I am, and meme Karin is my favorite. Am I trying too hard? Probably. Do I care? Not in the slightest.  
> Hope you enjoy:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't they just have a peaceful dinner, just once? When Ichigo and Grimmjow are at the same table, that's probably too much to ask. And didn't your mother ever tell you to not repeat things if you don't know what they mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D

Dinner for the evening was nabe, artfully made by Tessai, since the cold months were setting in. He could deep fry a rubber boot and make it taste good. Probably give Yuzu a run for her money too, not that Ichigo would ever tell her that. She’d be devastated. He didn’t smell it simmering in the kitchen earlier, but he knew how absolutely clueless he was sometimes.

Thinly sliced beef, and an array of vegetables all simmering together in a large pot. It had cabbage, but whatever; he’d deal. Just looking at it made his mouth water, hunger gnawing at his belly. Damn, he didn’t realize he’d worked up this much of appetite.

They ate on tatami mats around the low table, which didn’t fit everyone comfortably. To be completely honest, Ichigo preferred a table and chairs. He was sitting to the left of Grimmjow, thighs lightly brushing, Jinta to his right. Yoruichi sat next to Kiskue on the opposite side. Ururu was squeezed between Jinta and Yoruichi, Tessi on Ichigo’s left. It was definitely a tight fit, Tessai, Urahara, Grimmjow, and Ichigo were not small men, but it worked well enough.

Every time Grimmjow was distracted by something stupid or gross Urahara or Yoruichi said, Ichigo put a piece of cabbage on his plate. Mainly because Ichigo didn’t like it, and Grimmjow didn’t seem to care what was on his plate. As long as it was hot, he’d put it in his mouth.

Ichigo was busy sneaking the fifth piece of cabbage on his plate when Grimmjow hit his hand with a chopstick.

“Put another piece o’that shit on my plate an’ I’m guttin’ ya with it.” He growled out, voice low and threatening.

Honestly, Ichigo would love to see him try to gut him with a piece of soft, sweaty cabbage,. It would be the highlight of his day. Snickering at the thought, he watched thin blue eyebrows knit together in one of Grimmjow’s famous scowls. He raised his pair of chopsticks white-knuckled, and brought it down quickly, aiming for Ichigo’s thigh.

Ichigo caught his wrist easily enough, he’d fought in, not one, but _two_ wars. He could handle a lunatic with wooden eating utensils, he had his bases covered. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even break his skin, even if he didn’t block fang-face. At least, until Grimmjow reared around completely, knocking over Ichigo’s drinking glass in the process, and slapping him upside the head, fingers curling into his orange spikes like one of those claw machines grabbing a creepy, cheaply made prize. _Maybe that’s where Kon’s body had come from._

Ichigo used his free hand to whack Grimmjow’s wrinkled forehead in a stereotypical karate chop motion, rubbing it up and down for a good measure of contact friction. Just to be a little shit, basically, and to see those stupid frowny eyebrows wiggle around as he moved his hand. Grimmjow wasn’t minding the contact, in front of other people no less, so like hell Ichigo was gonna stop. Even if it was a cheap move. 

And that’s when he heard the laughter. Urahara wasn’t hiding it very well behind that cursed fan, and Yoruichi wasn’t hiding it at all, openly snickering at the pair. Tessai had gotten up to fetch a towel to dry up the little bit of water that had spilt from Ichigo’s poor glass. He could only imagine how ridiculous they looked, one hand staving off a chopstick assault, the other trying to karate chop Grimmjow’s eyebrows off, and felt his cheeks redden slightly. He bonked him on the face a couple times for good measure. That must’ve been what caused the bluescreen of death that was Grimmjow tilting his head and biting down on the soft flesh of his outer palm.

“Ow you shithead!” Ichigo yelled, chopping his forehead harder, forcing Grimmjow to snap his teeth at him a couple more times. He hadn’t drawn blood, but it definitely left a mark, Ichigo noted, looking at his hand, a scowl on his reddening face. He had _definitely_ felt a little tongue in that. A hand was still squeezing his head like an orange, fingers digging into his scalp roughly.

“Then stop touching me ya dickhead, “came the growled response.

“You’re the one who was gonna eviscerate me with cabbage,” Ichigo glared at him. “Then you attacked me with your chopsticks, what was I supposed to do? Let you?” He could still hear Urahara chuckling, and saying something about clearing things before everything was spilt. Vaguely noticing the two kids, who weren’t so little anymore get up and start clearing the table.

“Let’s decide that downstairs.” Asshole. He was just wanting a fight, nothing more. He felt fingers squeeze and relax into his head a couple times.

“I’m not fighting you at eight thrity at night.”

“Why? Past the little shinigami’s bedtime? Didn’t know you were such an old geezer.”

“Oh screw you.” What a dick. Hadn’t he ever heard of early to bed early to rise? Well…probably not. Then, the strangest, most embarrassing sentence he’d ever heard left the arrancars horrible mouth.

“Tch, I don’t bottom without a fight first.”

Ichigo choked, face combusting.

_What. The. Fuck._

\-----------------------------------------

Kurosaki was just a pervy little shit like everyone else in this damned house. If he wasn’t staring at his arms or ass, he was sneaking slimy pieces of shit on his plate. He ate it just to spite him, but wanted the beef instead. Kiskue had made a few comments about _really_ liking the meat tonight before stealing the piece he was aiming for. Maybe he’d need to try a new kind of meat sometime, Cat-Bitch said lowly under her breath, eyes flicking to Kurosaki a single time. Grimmjow thought about skewering her eyeballs with his chopstick and sucking out the jelly inside for good measure. That would teach her. Then Kurosaki put another wretched piece on his plate, and he snapped.

“Put another piece o’that shit on my plan an’ I’m guttin ya with it.”

_Shit._ That wasn’t a real threat. What the fuck? Would it even be possible to gut someone with this slimy shit? He doubted it.

Kurosaki snorted; Grimmjow furrowed his brows, and decided that stabbing would be more efficient. Even if it was with a couple of twigs. Kurosaki was quicker though, and caught him before he could try to bury the little wooden sticks into his muscular thigh, which was brushing lightly up against his own at the present. Grimmjow twisted, accidently knocking over a glass and slapped his hand down on the back of Kurosaki’s head, burying his fingers into his stupid orange hair, which was _way_ softer than it looked. He scratched once for good measure. Kurosaki decided to retaliate with the stupidest thing he’d ever seen him do.

And he must really like touching him, rubbing the pinky side of his hand between his eyebrows. He flexed his fingers in orange hair, contemplating trying to break his skull open. Kurosaki did the chopping motion again, much lighter and twice this time against Grimmjow’s forehead. What’s with the face thing? Couldn’t he be touchy elsewhere? Grimmjow refused to feel embarrassed when he heard Sandals and Cat Bitch laughing at them. Kurosaki looked far stupider than he did anyway with his dumb hand and stupid face. Grimmjow bit the soft flesh, sneaking a flick of his tongue over the warmth. He tasted _good_.

Kurosaki chopped his head a little harder, knocking his hand out of Grimmjow’s predatory fangs. He wasn’t drawing blood…yet. Grimmjow firmly believed there was a time and place for everything, and blood would just sour that idiot’s mood again, even it would be to Grimmjow’s elation.

“Then stop touching me you dickhead,” was all he said, a little more menacing than he actually meant. Ichigo didn’t seem phased.

“You’re the one who was gonna eviscerate me with cabbage.” That part was true.

“Then you attacked me with chopsticks, what was I supposed to do? Let you?”

_Yes_ , Grimmjow thought simply. It’s not like it would’ve hurt him; he flicked his eyes to the chopsticks in his hand, wrist still caught in Kurosaki’s calloused hand. Flimsy little twigs would’ve broken before they broke the skin of his thigh probably. His hard muscles were like Grimmjow’s hierro, which made him a little jealous to be honest. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of human skin yet, everything was still way to soft. Although without the hierro he was definitely feeling a _lot_ of new things.

“Let’s decide that downstairs.” A fight would get both of their minds off things, he decided. Even if it was just hand to hand in their stupid human bodies. Maybe he’d get Sandals to teach him some Kidou sometime. Grimmjow was a fast learner, and he’d love to wipe the shit-eating grin off Kurosaki’s face with one of those moves. It would be hilarious.

“I’m not fighting you at eight-thirty at night.” What a let-down.

“Why? Past the little shinigami’s bed time? Didn’t know you were actually an old geezer.” He sneered, trying to goad him into it.

“Oh screw you.” Ah ha! Just the phrase he was waiting for. That’s when he used the line he heard Cat-Bitch use on Sandals once. It had shut him up, and Grimmjow hadn’t seen either of them for a while afterwards. He’d guessed it was worth a try.

“Tch, I don’t bottom without a fight first,” he said cooly. 

Wow, that must’ve been the wrong thing to say after all. Ichigo looked like he was going to explode, his face burning bright red. He sputtered a few times, but nothing intelligent came out of his mouth. _Nothing new there, at_ least. He thought Urahara was going to die laughing on the floor like the moron he was. He deserved it. Yoruichi was also blushing slightly, knowing her own words. If she had a tail right now, it would be flicking back and forth quickly, agitated. _Embarrassed_ , Grimmjow realized. She must’ve thought they were alone when she said that to Sandals. Huh. Not a good sign then. _Must be a sex thing._ Jinta and Ururu had left a few minutes ago, so they were spared from Grimmjow’s absolute confusion.

He cocked his head slightly to the side and glared at, well, everything he could conceivably glare at, at once. Narrowed eyes flicked between Kurosaki, to Kiskue, then Yoruichi, back to Ichigo again and repeat.

Finally Kurosaki had composed himself enough to half yell, half screech.

_“What the absolute fuck?”_ his face was still bright red. “Do you even know what that means?”

_Apparently not,_ Grimmjow thought frowning, eyebrows pinched together and tense. Not that he was gonna admit it like the dumbass he actually was. And he kinda liked how embarrassed Kurosaki was, just by a few weird words. It must be something _dirty._ What a little prude. He just shrugged. He thought it had something to do with being the loser of a fight, just with weirder words, but he’d roll with it. He’d figure out what it actually meant sooner or later anyway.

“Did I stutter?” he hoped that sounded convincing enough. Ichigo looked like he wanted to die at that. Urahara gasped for air, and continued laughing. Tessai just sighed and shook his head deeply, face in one hand. Grimmjow looked at Ichigo and quirked an eyebrow.

“Bunker. Now.” Kurosaki’s hand gripping his shirt, practically dragging him towards the hatch in the back of the shop. Grimmjow’s face broke out in a toothy grin. Looks like he was getting that fight after all.

\-------------------------------------

Kurosaki’s hands had been sweaty, Grimmjow noticed absently as he ducked a right hook, when he drug him away. Sweeping is leg around, he caught the other’s ankle, toppling him over and landing him flat on his back. Kurosaki’s knuckles were going to be bruised, if not bleeding by the end.

They’d been sparring for about an hour now, both panting. Grimmjow had removed his shirt sometime ago, which distracted Kurosaki, being the little perv he was. _Like master, like student_. Not that he minded. Grimmjow knew he was attractive, especially by human standards. The espada that were creations in part due to Aizen and his glowing orb of horror were influenced by his…preferences. Apparently he liked his people to be pretty. Well, except Yammy. But that was another can of shit Grimmjow really didn’t want to think about currently... or ever. He looked like a brick had mated with a large, ugly, and particularly foul tempered goat. Grimmjow shivered inwardly.

He dodged a hard elbow, and swiped at Kurosaki’s side like he still had his claws. _Damn_ he missed his claws. They were his first and last line of defense. And now he was declawed people assumed he was _safe_. He wanted to hate it, but he knew deep down, he was warming up to the idea of close contact. He was close to his fraccion in his own way, but they were dead, so where did that leave him? Especially with a certain orange haired moron who had gotten behind him. When had Grimmjow gotten on his knees? He needed to get out of his head or he’d be losing the fight he started. Well, he started most of the fights anyway, but still.

Kurosaki’s arms wrapped around his neck in a headlock, squeezing around his throat. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, he noticed, a tingle of something low in belly. Grimmjow clamped down on his arms and stood, lifting the other off the ground slightly. Stepping forward and swinging down with his weight, he managed to flip Kurosaki over him, landing him on his back once more. _Who’s on bottom now, huh?_

Grimmjow cocked his fist back and threw it at Kurosaki’s stupid looking face, needing to think about something else. Rolling away at the last second, he kicked up a leg, nailing Grimmjow in the stomach. But instead of falling away, he grabbed the offending foot, wrapping strong fingers with a stronger grip around the ginger’s ankle.

More tousling. Kurosaki knocked him off balance by wrenching his foot away, his hand landing next to Kurosaki’s face, knees caging him in. They were close enough now Grimmjow grabbed the back of his head, locking it in place, and landed a headbutt in the middle of the Kurosaki’s forehead.

He finally had him pinned.

_‘Bout damn time._

“Told ya I don’t bot—”

“I _really_ don’t think that means what you think it means,” orange said, hot breath ghosting over his face and cutting him off. Kurosaki pushed his face away from his forehead.

Well, probably not, but who actually cares? It had gotten him his fight. Grimmjow shrugged, still hovering over Kurosaki, arm on either side of his head, knees by his hips.

It had knocked him off his game though, he noticed flatly. It wasn’t the most enjoyable fight. He had a split lip, bruised knuckles, and would probably have a bruised rib with the kick Kurosaki had managed to land, but that was really it. He was about the same, a now dry trickle of blood under his nose, equally shredded knuckles. His opponent was about the same—clothes more torn than Grimmjow’s. And he was getting a little red spot from the most recent headbutt. It wasn’t as much fun if they weren’t fighting for blood, but Grimmjow knew the fight was over then, but he didn’t get up from caging the other man’s body underneath him, opting to observe for a few moments. Kurosaki’s fingers flexed before he started to raise his hand.

\--------------------------

Ichigo lifted his hand slowly, well within Grimmjow’s sight. He didn’t particularly want to get bitten again; he could still feel teeth in the fleshy part of his hand. He was feeling a little better after their little match. They could only do so much damage in their human bodies, which Ichigo was secretly grateful for. Grimmjow’s bold declaration had definitely thrown him for a loop, sure he knew what each word meant separately, but together, in _that_ order? And yet his cockiness had made him believe otherwise, if only for a little bit.

Ichigo made that stupid karate chop gesture on his forehead one more time, still liking how the other mans skin felt especially heated after their tousling. Grimmjow didn’t look impressed, but he wasn’t knocking his hand away either. The sand floor of the bunker was sticking to his sweaty back uncomfortably. He really hated sand. He had been finding sand everywhere for weeks after the little excursion to Hueco Mundo during both wars, and hated it more the second time.

Grimmjow eyed him with a narrowed gaze, right eye twitching. Ichigo knew he didn’t really care for being touched, but he was getting used to it, it seemed. He certainly had no intention of stopping. Urahara had told him once he spied on him and Jinta while they were play wrestling, which he found difficult to imagine.

Jinta had always tried to act tough and macho when Ichigo was around, probably because Yuzu was his sister, and to the boy, she was a divine being. Plus he didn’t want Ichigo to report back anything he considered weak. But Ichigo had once witnessed him shriek like a banshee when a butterfly had landed in his hair and Ururu told him it was a spider. He ended up knocking himself unconscious running into the wall, and sported a dull purple bruise on his forehead for three days afterward both Urahara and Tessai refused to heal. That kid wasn’t fooling anyone. Like hell Ichigo would ever say anything to her about him, if he wanted to make a move, he could do it without him.

“So….” Grimmjow started, swatting at Ichigo’s hand, and knocking him from his thoughts. He didn’t budge, instead flattening his palm across his face. Grimmjow looked less than thrilled. Ichigo wondered if he’d lick him again, but pushed away the thought as soon as it sprang up. _Yuzu will never bake for me again._

“Move yer hand or I’m spittin’ directly in yer mouth.”

Ichigo removed his hand and shut his mouth, flushing slightly, he was sure. Grimmjow looked like he was thinking. Ichigo crushed the sudden impulse to poke at his forehead asking if it hurt rubbing his last two braincells together to experience a thought. His nose was wrinkling up, twitching slightly. Eyes still looking directly at his face.

He’d never admit it, but Ichigo wanted to squirm a little under such an intense gaze. Grimmjow didn’t look like he was gonna follow up with anything, just stare into the depts of his soul with those mesmerizing blue eyes. They were every shade of blue he wished he could pull off wearing, but it clashed horribly with his hair. Maybe he could wear a hat?

Ichigo shifted slightly under the intensity, looking past the fluff of blue hair to the ridiculously tall ladder leading up to the main floor. He noticed Urahara quietly descending; he had even taken his clunky wooden shoes off. His whole vibe screamed _pervert_. What, was he hoping to catch them in the middle of something? A fleeting moment of passion? Did he want to see if Grimmjow actually meant what he said? Did he—

A flick to his forehead. Ichigo snapped his gaze back to Grimmjow’s face.

“What _does_ it mean?”

So he didn’t know, huh. Ichigo felt a slight pang of…disappointment? _Well, that’s not appropriate_. He swallowed thickly. How should he explain this? Did Grimmjow even know what sex was? Did hollows have sex? Arrancars were pretty human shaped, did that apply to, well… _everywhere?_ How much should he explain? What if Grimmjow immediately hated what was going to come out of his mouth? _Oh GodohGodohGod._ This was going to be embarrassing anyway he said it.

“It’s well…” he swallowed again. Grimmjow’s face was closer now, like he could stare the answer out of him. “Uh…”

“Well when two…uh…people are…uh—I mean two people that—sometimes in a relationship—”

There was no way to say it, Ichigo realized, that didn’t involve some words he _really_ wanted to avoid. _God_ he felt like he was learning about the birds and the bees in middle school all over again. So, he kept stopping and restarting like a moron. Grimmjow looked pretty impatient.

“Two people…in—with, uh, _feelings—”_ No, that wasn’t right either. He could feel his little virgin soul dying.

“It’s a sex thing~~~” Urahara sing-songed quite loudly behind them. Both men snapped their heads towards the shopkeeper, who was hiding behind his bastard fan once more. Ichigo could hear the horrible smile in his grating, smothering voice. Ichigo didn’t want to look at Grimmjow, didn’t want to see his face, full of disgust, or pity, or—

“It’s most commonly used between same sex coupling. The bottom being the one who takes.” Urahara needed to stop talking, please stop talking. Ichigo could feel his face getting redder by every stupid word. Then Grimmjow opened his obnoxious mouth—

“Takes what,” Grimmjow asked, completely straight faced.

Ichigo wanted to die. He wanted to dig a hole with his teeth and bury himself in the earth for the rest of his days. Kon would have to stay in that stuffed lion’s body forever, but Yuzu could take care of him. Rukia would miss him. Orihime would probably cry. Uryu would…do something? Maybe? Wipe his glasses with sadness? Chad would sigh. If there was another war, Soul Society would have to fight without him. It was a matter of principle at this point. The robots would come and Ichigo would need to make sure his grave was unmarked so no-one could dig him up and study him for science. If Maiyuri found his body he’d have to resurrect himself and kill them both. Sad really.

_Did you hear Ichigo died a virgin because Urahara didn’t know when to stop talking and Grimmjow took the bait? No way! Yeah, apparently, he just stuck his head in the soil and started swallowing dirt until he disappeared! Whoa, talk about a prude._

“Penetration, generally speaking.”

Ichigo closed his eyes and waited for the embrace of death; hoping death was a sexless, void of peaceful blackness, and he would never have to feel awful things like _emotions_ ever again. He wanted to go home and crawl in bed. And _never_ tell Kon about this. _God,_ he’d never let him live this down. He’s on his case enough as it is, and now _this_. The only penetration Ichigo would ever be getting was from the fork he’d like to stick in his jugular right now.

He could feel Grimmjow get up, his presence leaving Ichigo’s bubble of self-inflicted torment. He didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see what those eyes held. He sat up and glared at Urahara instead, who looked like he just won the Mt. Pervert of the world contest. He could choke on his crown. Grimmjow had his back to him now; a pit opened up in the deepest part of Ichigo’s soul. Darker and heavier than the hollow presence he knew resided there. Embarrassment turning to a deep seeded shame, breath stopping altogether. This feeling was _much_ worse.

“Tch, we both know I’d top.” His eyes shot to Girmmjow’s back; he was idly scratching his head, still not looking at him. He’d _what?_ Then he walked off, not even bothering to glace back at Ichigo.

What the _hell_ was that supposed to mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo is quite the mess, isn't he? Poor guy. This chapter made me a little nervous, but here it is regardless~ Enjoy:)
> 
> Idk what people listen to when they're trying to write, but a good sea shanty always seems to get me in a good groove.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo had to leave for a few days, leaving a very bored Grimmjow in Urahra's shop with the shopkeeper himself and Jinta. He makes it his goal to irritate them both.

Everything clicked into place for Grimmjow as soon as Kiskue opened up his gross mouth. _No wonder Kurosaki was a hot mess_. He radiated repression like it was his damn job. Whatever. Grimmjow knew the chase was just as enjoyable as the capture; there was a sense of euphoria in prolonging certain things. Maybe he was just a sadist.

But that was a few days ago. Kurosaki hadn’t come back. 

“So why’d he have to go there again?” Something about the treaty still being worked out and avoiding his duties as this dumpster of a city’s protector.

Kiskue sighed, running a hand down his stubbly face. He knew he’d already asked, but _god he was so bored_ , and if that meant irritating the shopkeeper, then so be it. _Paybacks a real bitch_. 

“I’ve already told you four times, Grimmjow. Do you even listen when I talk to you? Since Ichigo was one of the main factors that defeated Yhwach, they wanted to get his opinion on how to….”

Grimmjow stopped listening. Something about a treaty with Hueco Mundo and how to work out some issues between the Soul Society and the new society that was forming under Harribel in Hueco Mundo blah blah _fuckin’ blah_. He didn’t care. Hueco Mundo could rot, damn giant litterbox of depression that it was. He knew it was supposed to be home for him, but…it’s not like he had anything to go back to. His fracciones were dead, and arrancar were few and far between anyway. No-one was waiting there for him. Nel was annoying as hell, and Harribel wasn’t worth his time, even if she could beat the shit out of him. At least some people in this world gave a shit; even if it was a small one. Even when he wandered around outside for a while, out of sight from the shoten, _someone_ would always say something to him upon his return. Even Cat-Bitch. He’d take that over a cold and silent moon any day.

Kiskue, Grimmjow, and Jinta were in the front-room where the candy was. Three little paths through see-through containers with a multitude of colors and flavors. Most them were sour or chocolate, and Grimmjow hated both. Mint chocolate could get imprisoned with Aizen for eternity. He nearly gagged just thinking about it. A few people came in on a good day, but everyone in the know, knew that wasn’t how he stayed open, preferring to deal with the soul reapers that were all too common in this city. Candy was just a bonus, even if it tasted like shit.

Carrot top came in a few times, Ururu always calling him ‘moocher’. _Must’ve stayed here quite a bit,_ he guessed, since they hadn’t used that word for Grimmjow yet. He usually had the icicle with him, and his sister the snowflake. They were all a different brand of irritating. He didn’t know how Kurosaki could stand them. Grimmjow made it a point to growl at them the first time. Kiskue just told him to behave, like he was some half-feral animal. His eye twitched at the thought. None of them seemed to appreciate his presence not trying to bash their heads against the wall, the shitfaces. He was controlling himself very well, all things considered. The snowflake stuck her little tongue out at him when Icicle and Carrot weren’t looking. He flipped her off, she returned the gesture. Thinking on it, Grimmjow guessed she was okay; she didn’t seem to hold too much of a grudge about the whole hand through her stomach thing. He’d make it a point to try not to do it again.

“Hey Grimmjow, catch!” Jinta said, aiming a small piece of hard candy at Grimmjow’s face, knocking him from his thoughts about the other soul reapers. He crinkled up his nose, but opened his mouth regardless, tonging lightly over his fangs, just to make sure they were still there. Jinta tossed it over to him, and Grimmjow caught it in mouth because he was good at catching things, thank you very much.

Grimmjow closed his mouth sucking on the candy, and promptly spit it at the red-headed boy who was smiling devilishly. His mouth was tingling in a not good way.

“That was sour you little shit!” the candy nailed Jinta right between his beady little eyes.

“Ouch! Don’t get your spit all over me you—”

And just like that, Grimmjow had the boy in a head lock. He deserved it; kid knew damn well he didn’t like sour stuff. The color should have given it away. He’d yet to eat anything green he actually _liked._ Cabbage could go to _Hell_ and _stay_ there.

“Don’t you dare!” Jinta’s arms were flailing, trying to stop the inevitable, hands trying to yank on blue hair. Grimmjow was much too tall for him.

 _Too late_ , he thought, licking his hand and smashing it down onto the kids hair and face. Scuffing it up and around for good measure, he made sure to get it all over Jinta’s soft face, the little shit.

“Don’t feed me sour stuff,” he said simply, Jinta struggling and shrieking, kicking his legs to try and get some leverage away from the large man holding him in place.

“Ewwwww that’s so gross man!” he acted like he was spitting out the worse tasting thing in the world. Grimmjow knew that absolutely wasn’t true because he’d already nailed him in the face with it. He absently looked around on the floor, he didn’t see it, maybe it slid under one of the shelves. Good riddance.

“Lemme go! I gotta clean my face or Yuzu will never kiss me!” Grimmjow rolled his eyes, not this shit again. He didn’t know what the hell a Yuzu was, be he assumed it was another kid. A girl by the details. He could ramble on for hours if someone asked, so Grimmjow didn’t. He did let the kid go though, and he jumped away, running through the door, yelling about cleanliness and…lemons? Whatever. Grimmjow sat back down near the money machine where Kiskue was standing. It looked like another slow day in the making.

Not that he minded slow, but days were even slower when Kurosaki didn’t come in with some half-assed idea or something. Last time it had been lockpicking. Tch. He doubted the ginger idiot could do anything dishonest without having some sort of mental breakdown, which is probably why he sucked at it so bad, always yelling about protecting this or that. Power of friendship or some shit. _Gag._ He went out the next day and found the other part of the little silver tools Kurosaki had been using. He should learn and do it better, the look on the ginger’s face would be priceless.

Kiskue chuckled to Grimmjows right, fanning himself slightly with that wretched fan.

“He looks up to you, in his weird way, you know.” Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

“Tch. He needs to look somewhere else.” The fact he knew the kid was trying to get closer to him should frustrate him. He certainly didn’t like it when Kiskue mentioned it. With the play fighting, the wrestling, hell even indulging the kid’s stupid rants about some girl he didn’t give half a shit about. Grimmjow should back away, hide away. It was his fracciones all over again, but almost worse. Jinta was smaller, weaker, and even though he knew it would only bite him in the ass later, Grimmjow was starting to look after him, in a weird, aggressive sort of way. Toughen him up a bit.

Kiskue simply hummed, and left it at that, thank the soul kings hairy toe, may he rest in pieces. It was then the door opened to reveal a girl no older than Jinta, the bell on the door jingling a little. She had a yellow dress on with little lemons decorating the sleeves, light colored hair, not blonde, but something, almost familiar; in each hand was about three bags, and some looked heavy. It was pretty clear to Grimmjow she wasn’t very strong by how her arms were shaking. He didn’t bother moving.

“Ah, hello there my dear! The usual?” Kiskue asked, already heading over to the far front corner with a weird plastic scoop thing and a small plastic baggie smiling like he just got out of prison. Grimmjow assumed she must come here a lot, but he’d never saw her pudgy face before, and he’d been here for nearly half a year. Then again, maybe she had. Most of the mundane humans looked the same to him.

“Yes please!” the girl chirped, setting her bags down on the ground with an audible _thud_. She raised her hands above her head and stretched; Grimmjow head a faint popping sound coming from her fingers. Her eyes looked kinda familiar too, he thought, but other than that, she looked just as soft as any other human. Softer, in fact. She looked like she cried for fun.

“My goodness, you certainly have a lot of bags today!” the girl sighed.

“Yes, I was supposed to have help, but _someone_ had to run off on _official business_ ,” she said, doing a weird motion with both hands, index and middle finger curling down a couple times. She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout, eyes glaring to an unseen enemy, but perked up a moment later. “But he’s supposed to be back tonight, so I’m cooking some of his favorites!”

Grimmjow noticed Kiskue giving her a small smile in…apology? Why should he apologize to a child—besides the two he lived with. He should apologize to them on the daily for all the shit they had to put up with. Like all the sex talk. It was all between the lines, but still. They weren’t complete idiots. And the pumpkin incident. Grimmjow shivered at the memory. He’d never look at pumpkin seeds the same way ever again. But how did he know this one? Did he just know all the human children in the area? That was creepy. And Grimmjow didn’t want a bunch of kids he’d never seen running throughout the house—he’d never get any rest. And if they were anything like Jinta or the little black-haired Kurosaki’s, or her weirdo companions, they’d be really touchy too. Not a combination he wanted to deal with.

“My dear, are you going to get home in one piece?” Kiskue asked, bagging the candy and handing it to her. She offered up something, but Kiskue just put his hand up.

“No please, consider it an apology and thanks for your brother.” Girmmjow hated ass-kissing even more. He shouldn’t complain about being broke if he was gonna do things like that.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t feel right just taking it.” Great. A goody-two shoes, just like Kurosaki. Crying probably was her hobby then. And eating shitty candy from a creepy shopkeeper who probably didn’t know a damn about candy to begin with.

“Yes, and hang on—Grimmjow?” Grimmjow looked directly at him. What now? Couldn’t he just sit there and not be bothered in this damn house for one damn minute? “Will you be a good little helper and help dear Yuzu with her bags? She’s one of my best customers, so she should get top notch service!”

Grimmjow’s eyes widened at the name. So this was Yuzu, huh? By the way Jinta rattled on about her, he’d thought the sun would be shining out of her ass and she’d be glowing with some divine light. She didn’t look like anything special, just another weak human girl who could barely carry her own damn groceries. He almost didn’t catch the helper comment. Almost. He opened his mouth, about to tell him exactly where he could shove that scoop.

The girl started to turn red.

“Oh no Mr. Urahara that’s not necessary, I can get them I promise!” and to prove her point she threw the bag of candy in a random sack and picked them all up at once. One of the bags promptly split, its contents scattering over the candy shop floor. A can of something slammed into her foot, causing a yelp of pain to escape her mouth. She dropped the rest of the bags in a heap, busting another bag in the process. A weird long white thing rolled back and forth slightly, and he noticed a cabbage bounce slightly behind her. Her face was beet red now, mouth scrunched in a tight, embarrassed and pained line. Grimmjow closed his mouth, biting comment lost in her pathetic attempt at…whatever that little demonstration was supposed to be. Great, now he was be responsible for another brat.

....

Grimmjow was carrying four of the heaviest bags while Yuzu carried only two, plus her candy. Urahara had given her a cloth bag for her spilled foodstuff, and doubled bagged the rest. He rolled his eyes, there was no way this kid could’ve gotten home carrying all this shit. And who just let a kid no older than Jinta go by herself to buy all of this? The redhead certainly couldn’t handle such a task, but she did seem like her head could hold actual thoughts. If her brother was home when he got back, Grimmjow would have something to give him as well; a black eye for starters. Didn’t the larger humans care for the smaller ones? Wasn’t that the whole point of having them? As weird as he thought the smaller humans were, he almost admired the honesty in their…oddness. The older they got, the sneakier they got. Almost like the more human they got, the less human they became. 

Yuzu had chatted about the weather, school, and food, while Grimmjow only half listened. He hadn’t been down this way before, not that he left his territory of the shoten often. It felt like it was mostly living spaces. Some places seemed large for one human, but he assumed they lived together in units, similar to his situation with Kiskue was. Like how he was with his fracciones. Grimmjow shook his head slightly, he didn’t particularly want to think about them. He’d moved on from their deaths. Accepted that a lot of people were to blame.

He wasn’t angry enough anymore to believe it was the fault of every soul reaper in existence, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he didn’t play a part in it. The blood stained many hands, and some days he could still smell it on his.

He felt a small hand on his arm. The girl was looking at him, a serious frown on her face, a small wrinkle between her brows. She looked very concerned, serious. She reminded Grimmjow of some harmless baby animal. A raccoon or something. Or was it a rabbit? Whichever wasn’t one of those weird little furry things with ringed tails and horrible human fingers. Kiskue had said they were created purely to spite the Gods one day after coming in from chasing one away with a broom from some old containers filled with trash. He said it grabbed his nose and squeezed it before running away.

“Gonna give yer’self a headache brat,” he muttered, shifting his gaze back to the sidewalk path they were going down.

“I’m sorry you had to help me with the bags,” she said, barely audible, still not moving her hand. Her touch was careful, as if his arm would snap right off; he couldn’t remember the time he had been touched like that. Didn’t think he ever had. His growing irritation about the situation fizzled out.

“Tch. Don’t worry about it, brat. Not like you woulda made it back with everything otherwise.”

She puffed out her cheeks, crinkling up her nose again. Her eyes were glinting, with what Girmmjow assumed was her impression of being tough. She dropped her hand to pick up a bag he didn’t even know she’d set down.

“I’m not some helpless little girl!” They were walking again; she had said it wasn’t but a ten minute walk or so, but it seemed to drag on for eternity with her chattering in his ear. Good thing he was getting good at tuning out annoying human kids.

“Sure.” Grimmjow didn’t bother saying that was _exactly_ what she was. Maybe he should’ve had Jinta carry her bags. Hell, he’d eat the damn grocery bags, food an all still inside, if she’d ask. He had it _bad_.

“But I do appreciate it. Nii-san usually helps me, or Dad, but they were both busy. I try not to buy more than I can carry, but I think I went a little overboard this time.” She had a faint red dusting her cheeks. They stopped in front of a white house; it looked like it had an upper floor as well. The girl led the way to the door; setting down her two bags, she pulled a small golden key from a hidden pocket in her dress, slipped it inside the knob and let herself in.

“Please leave your shoes there.” She said, kicking off her shoes onto a mat near the door. Were all humans this absolutely trusting and stupid? What if he had been a bad guy? Well, he was a bad guy, but like a _bad_ bad guy. Someone who didn’t care if she was weaker, and couldn’t fight back. Some hollows would have jumped at the chance to devour a sweet little soul like hers; at least he still had his honor, everything else be damned.

Grimmjow stepped inside carefully and toed off his boots. Kiskue had almost forced him into his ridiculous skeleton socks today, and he thought about taking those off too, but he noticed the girl had left hers on. She was sporting….strawberries? _Fiine_. He wanted to go home already, and stopped.

Since when had he considered the shoten _home_? There were many realizations today, and he didn’t like any of them so far. Maybe he should stop while he was ahead. He started down the narrow hallway with boring-ass white walls.

“Oh, did practice get done early?” he heard the girl ask, puttering across the wooden floor, making it creak slightly. Her father perhaps? Or her shit-face of a brother? Grimmjow’s eyebrow quirked at the thought, hearing the rustling of her setting bags down. He followed the sound.

“Yeah, Ryohei got sick right before practice because Heita bet him he couldn’t drink a whole gallon of milk. The whole field stank like rotten eggs. The other two threw up in sympathy.” _Gross._

 _Wait._ Grimmjow recognized that voice.

“Isn’t he lactose intolerant?”

“Hella.”

There was no mistaking that voice. He’d heard it a few days before. It couldn’t be—was this something planned or did he just have the shittiest luck? Man he must’ve been a real dick when he was an actual human, racked up bad karma for half a damn millennia.

Grimmjow turned the corner out of the hallway and was face to face with none other than the little black-haired Kurosaki. Vaguely remembering Kurosaki saying something about ‘the twins’, but he couldn’t remember if he said anything else. No names or anything? He thought twins were supposed to look similar? And if Lemon was Blackies sister, then that meant—

He heard the door he entered open and close. What now?

“Hey guys, I’m home a little earlier than expected,” a familiar voice came from behind him. Blackie was just staring at Grimmjow like he had grown another head, mouth dropping. Lemon didn’t seem phased in the slightest, instead turning towards the sound of the voice.

“Ichi-nii! You’re back!” she rushed around the bulk of Grimmjow, who was still holding four heavy bags of groceries. Kurosaki. He was in Kurosaki’s house. These were Kurosaki’s sisters. He had helped a Kurosaki with her bags. No wonder she seemed familiar. Looking at Blackies face from closer up, he could definitely see the resemblance between the two girls.

“Geez, I was only gone three days,” he sounded soft in these walls, fond. Then again why wouldn’t he?

“Alright, I remember you said something about grocery help, are you getting ready to leave?”

“Oh, I just back actually. I bought too much again, and when I stopped at Urahara’s to get my candy, one of my bags broke. He was nice enough to help me re-bag.” Damn she was really gonna repeat the whole story, huh? Footsteps were getting closer to where Girmmjow was standing. He couldn’t bring himself to move, didn’t know where a place for him would be anyway.

“Yuzu—”

“I know, I know, but Mr. Urahara had one of his employees help me with the bags!” _Better own the shit that’s gonna go down, Grimmjow._

“If Jinta is in this house I swear I’ll—”

They rounded the corner, putting Kurosaki right in front of Grimmjow. He stopped, gapping at him, just standing in the middle of the archway opening with grocery bags like a good little helper, damnit. Grimmjow bared his teeth in a snarly kind of smile.

“What that f—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a soft spot for Grimmjow who isn't terrible in dealing with the little humans, can't you tell? Also any interaction between Yuzu and literally anyone gives me life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo comes home to find a certain blue haired arrancar standing in the hallway. Why is he in his house, and why is Ichigo's family so weird?

Uuuuggghhh, Ichigo hated these meetings. He’d been invited to a couple others, and he’d respectfully declined. Once he disrespectfully declined by drawing a crude depiction of a middle finger and told Rukia to give it to whoever was head of the meetings. If anyone ever asked, he got it the first time, and he didn’t have to practice for an hour and a half to get the proportions to his liking. Kon made fun of him the entire time. He should’ve just drawn a dick instead, those were easier. Why were hands so hard to draw, damnit. He hoped that would get them off his back for a while, but Rukia took one look at it and shredded it in front of his face. He was pissed.

This was one he couldn’t wriggle out of, however; but at least he saw Renji and Rukia. Hell, Nel had even been there, and the new ruler of Hueco Mundo, Hellsbells? Hollybach? He didn’t remember, and all the arrancars had weird-ass names. Seriously, who came up with the name Grimmjow? Did that stand for something? What person would carry a child in their womb for nine months, go through the painful process of labor, take one look at their newborn and think, _ah, yes, I think I’ll name him Grimmjow._ That would be ridiculous. No wonder he snarled so much.

The meeting had run about as smoothly as he thought it would, meaning _not very well_. Nel had wanted to sightsee the entire damn Soul Society and Queenie wanted to leave as soon as possible. Everyone was fairly uncomfortable, except Ichigo, who was so used to being uncomfortable, he was getting comfortable with it, thanks.

Nel flitted about, mingling with as many Shinigami as she could, _especially_ if they seemed deeply uncomfortable with the idea of talking to something that was still very much a hollow, but way too similar to them. Ichigo snorted.

_Stuck up bastards_. He had a hard time seeing the difference between them, to be honest, but maybe he was just oversimplifying things. He didn’t really care. Despite everything that happened, he was still a human first, a substitute Shinigami second. If someone needed protecting, he would protect, be it human, Shinigami, even arrancar. As far as he concerned, at least half the hollows were blatant failings of Shinigami, weren’t they? Not all of them of course, but Ichigo wasn’t so naïve to think the soul reapers caught every soul before it turned into a hollow. It wasn’t practical. At the very least, the system was definitely flawed; it wasn’t helped that many run of the mill Shinigami just didn’t see a problem.

There were some who definitely cared, though, and he treasured those—called them his friends. But there still weren’t enough soldiers to purify those who needed them most, making more of those tormented souls who’s only way of begging for release was howling.

He hated that sound. It kept him up at night, even it was just a phantom sound in the depts of his mind. He remembered Grand Fisher. Sora. Every nameless hollow, crying for help in the only way they knew how. Ichigo had even made those howling sound if Orihime could be believed. The thought sickened him. The bottomlessness ache had followed him for nearly a year after the battle with Aizen before it went away.

He almost admired arrancar. How strong were they, to put up with that level of absolute _bullshit_ and evolve into a level where they had actual choices again and weren’t mindlessly eating whatever soul they bounded upon just to survive? He literally couldn’t imagine—thought about asking Grimmjow a couple times, but decided against it. If he remembered that time in his life, he probably wished he didn’t. No use to pick a healing scab, then. 

But he was home now, and earlier than normal too. Maybe Yuzu wouldn’t have gone to the grocery store yet. She always bought too much and struggled getting it home. Though, she always weaseled some poor unfortunate soul to help her, regardless, the little deviant. She was cute and sweet on the outside, but she was just as mischievous as Karin, sometimes more since she was so unsuspecting of a character. She was even worse when she decided to cause problems on purpose. Like when she went on strike for something stupid their father did; they ate cold takeout for a week, even after Isshin apologized for his transgressions and promised never to do it again.

Sure they could be little shits, but they were _his_ little shits and he’d kill anyone who hurt them. His father could take care of himself, the big bastard. But he was alright too. After everything went down, Isshin was a little awkward with everything, much to Ichigo’s amusement. He had meant what he said—Ichigo believed he was kept in the dark for a reason. Hell, if he was in Isshin’s shoes, he may have very well done the same. What’s done was done, Yhwach was dead and they were alive. That’s all that mattered at this point.

What he was _not_ expecting was to run into a certain blue haired ex-espada in the middle of his house. _This_ was the ‘employee’ Urahara had sent with his sister? His _human_ and completely innocent, cried when she stepped on a fuzzy spider, purest soul he’d ever come across, sister? He was gonna kill him. Urahara would die this very night; he’d strangle him with bare hands and his own sash. Yoruichi may help, if she was in the right mood. Tessai definitely would.

“What the fuc—”

“ _Ichigo,_ you be _nice.”_ Yuzu was scolding him. Preventing him from calling the other man names like a child. Why was she defending him? Ichigo glared at Grimmjow, who was still holding bags in his stupid muscular arms. He was wearing another cut off, and a different pair of tight fitting sweat pants. Didn’t his arms get cold? The way he was turned, gave Ichigo a nice view of his ass, and _damn_ if his mouth didn’t water a little bit. Urahara sent him to help his sister dressed like _that?_ His neighbors would have a come apart if they saw. Not that their opinions mattered. But he was about to have a breakdown in the middle of the hallway, and that _did_ matter.

Yuzu walked over to Grimmjow, who was just standing there like an idiot with muscular arms. God what a _himbo_. He wasn’t, Ichigo scoffed internally, but a guy could _dream_ , right? Well, he probably wouldn’t like him nearly as much if he was hot _and_ dumb. He’d proven many times his cunning on and off the battlefield. But now was definitely not the time for that.

She tried to take one of the bags from him, but Grimmjow just turned out of her reach, sliding backwards in his stupidly adorable socks. _Did he pick those out?_ She followed, arms outstretched, making grabbing motions with her hands. He kept turning, barely out of her grasping fingers, devilish smile on the corners of his lips. Ichigo closed his gaping mouth and decided to watch whatever game of keep-away was going on. Yuzu tried a jumping approach next, and Grimmjow just shifted the bags a little higher, out of her short little reach and stuck out his tongue a little. Ichigo nearly _melted_. Was this how he was like with Jinta and Ururu? He’d just assumed Grimmjow had hated kids and was generally rough with everyone he came across, but it looked like Ichigo missed the mark on that. He looked like he was actually _enjoying_ himself.

“Now you give that back!” she squeaked, not sounding even a little frustrated. She sounded like she was having _fun._ _God_ she was adorable, but Ichigo should probably help her. Grimmjow obviously had a height advantage. And weight advantage. And strength advantage. He had a lot of advantages, okay? She jumped forward this time, but her strawberry socked feet slipped on the floor. _Why wasn’t she wearing slippers? She always wears slippers._ She was falling straight to the wooden floor when Grimmjow stuck one thick leg out to catch her midair. He didn’t even wobble, groceries still safe in his arms. Ichigo gaped at the sight of them.

Yuzu, dangling over Grimmjows outstretched leg like a wet rag eyes wide as dinnerplates, fingertips brushing the floor, while he was standing with one foot on the floor, grocery bags still held in his arms, was the sight Isshin walked into. Ichigo could sense his eyes scanning over the situation, eyes finally landing on him, who was still in his shihaksho.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m absolutely blaming you.” Isshin said blankly. Ichigo quirked an eyebrow at his father, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s bullshit, and I think you know it.”

“I refuse to believe you think.” Isshin said, waltzing over to Grimmjow who was standing still as a damn Greek statue watching this tragedy that was Ichigo’s family unfold right in front of his eyes. So much for any normal introduction. Not that his family knew what that word meant in the slightest. In one big motion he pulled Yuzu back upright, making sure she was steady on her socked feet, lightly kicked down Girmmjows leg, swept up all the groceries between his arms, and sat them down with a thud on the countertop.

Everyone else just stood around while Isshin busied himself putting the groceries away, and attempting a hint of normalcy to what was happening, staring. Or trying. He upended the cloth bag and let the produce tumble out on the counter with as little grace a person could possibly have. Ichigo knew he didn’t know where a damn thing went because Yuzu had a system, but hell if anyone knew what it was. Everyone else seemed to band together in that single moment, and watch as the man started off stoically by putting bread in the cabinet, shutting it, and looking at everyone else. Yuzu looked like she was going to freak out, the little OCD nerd.

“That doesn’t go there do it?” Ah, the magic words that broke the spell over every person in this stupid house.

“Dad, everyone knows bread goes in the fridge!” Yuzu said, breaking from her stupor and rushing over to the cabinet. Isshin summoned crocodile tears, letting them stream down his stubbled face. He looked so stupid. 

“Daddy’s sorry my little angel!” Throwing himself over to Yuzu, who was clicking her tongue in fond annoyance of his antics. Karin raised her leg and kicked, nailing him right in the jaw. He toppled backwards, holding his face like his stupid beard was gonna slide right off. She’d be a damn fine kickboxer, maybe Chad could show her some more stuff. Ichigo heard Grimmjow snort.

“My beautiful Masaki, our beautiful daughters don’t love me anymore, and our son is making googly eyes at an arrancar!!” he called out, clutching at his heart dramatically, and running over to the big poster on the opposite wall. Ichigo blushed and threw his wooden pass at his stupid father as he snuck a look at Grimmjow who seemed to be watching in mute fascination. Ichigo wasn’t even sure he’d heard the googly eyes comment—he’d hoped not. He had the smallest smile on his face, corners barely upturned. No snarl, no growl, a simple smile, unhidden. Ichigo couldn’t help but stare; Grimmjow caught him and just stared right back. It felt like they turned a new page in whatever kind of relationship they were forming; it was weird, but welcome.

But Ichigo would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit embarrassed; this was pretty much the norm in this madhouse. Everybody was riled up all the time. The only respite he got was when he was in his room, but even then, he usually had Kon to deal with. Speaking of.

“What debauchery is happening down here without _meee_?!” came shrieking from upstairs. 

_Oh my God._ If Grimmjow saw Kon doing Kon stuff in his body, Ichigo was going to commit a homicide. Wait. Suicide? It was still his body after all? He would commit great violence and someone may or may not die. Ichigo ran to grab the wooden battle pass he’d thrown at his father, hoping to catch him before Kon did something stupid.

Ichigo didn’t catch Kon before he did something stupid. That damn pass slid under the couch. Flexing his fingers, ass in the air, Ichigo floundered around, desperately trying to reach that pass. It was literally his only hope at this point. Flouncing up to Grimmjow, without a shirt, no less, and in literally the tightest pants he owned, he un-abashedly looked him up and down. His fingers brushed the edge, flicking it forward within his reach. _Gotcha_.

“Whoo, you’re just his type. Big dominant asshole who secretly likes to switch and--” Ichigo threw the pass at Kon, nailing him square in the chest and forcing the pill out of his body. That normally didn’t happen, but he’d take it. He felt a headache coming on. His father whistled; Ichigo gave him a poignant middle finger. Merging quickly with his actual body, he grabbed Grimmjow’s wrist and practically drug him up the stairs. Damn these pants barely fit him anymore, but at least what little of an ass he actually had looked fantastic, he was sure.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do~” His father said behind him, sniffing up the rest of his fake tears, making the worst sounds in the world as he did so. Yuzu started to scold him, thankfully, so Ichigo swallowed the retort. This was gonna be a long day.

……………….

“So you’re tellin’ me this little pill keeps your body from dyin’ permanently?” Grimmjow asked, thumbing the little green ball between two fingers. It didn’t look like anything special, almost like it was a piece of candy from Urahara’s shitty stash. He still couldn’t get the image of Not-Ichigo in Ichigo’s human body, walking straight up to him with the biggest shit eating grin on his face and spouting absolute nonsense. Pants looked good though. He made a note to ask about a ‘switch’, but maybe not to Kurosaki, who had since changed into much less flattering clothing. Baggy hooded sweatshirt, loose pants. _Damn_.

“Uh, kinda? I’m not sure what it can all do, honestly. He’s usually in this.” Kurosaki said, on the other end of the bed, held up what looked like a child’s toy. Grimmjow leaned over and snatched it from his hands, stuffing the pill into its mouth. It came alive a second later.

“I absolutely object to such treatment, Ichigo! I was about to get your body some action, and what do you do? You threw that horrible pass right at my beautifully sculpted chest! You owe me a peek at Yoruichi! I want a panty shot!” It was thrashing around in his grip, hand still curled around its middle. _And it was a pervert_. Was Kiskue even trying anymore or was he just ruining Kurosaki’s life on purpose? That man radiated pure chaos like it was his sole goal in life. He threw it across the bed they were sitting on at Ichigo. Grimmjow didn’t bother to say that Cat-Bitch usually opted to not wear them, much to his dismay. Just yesterday she came out of the bathroom buck-ass naked and asked him if he’d seen some brush or whatever. It was a painful experience he wanted to forget as soon as possible. 

“Shut up will you? I needed my body back before I killed you myself," he said, knocking the toy, who was sobbing fat, and probably fake tears, away from clinging to his arm . How was that even possible? It _was _just a stuffed toy, right?__ It huffed, crossing its arms and started pacing the bed, wagging one paw at Kurosaki.

“Humh, why? Jealous I’m getting more action than you? Ichigo, the wall gets more than you do—” Grimmjow was done listening to the mind numbing conversation before him. Were they always like this? How could Kurosaki just talk to that thing when it had just been messing around in his body? Then a thought popped in his head. Grabbing the stuffed thing from his prancing across the bed and forcing a couple fingers into the lion’s plush mouth, he dug around trying to find the pill.

“So this pill gets you into your soul reaper form?” The stuffed thing was flailing wildly under his hands, knocking his little paws against Grimmjows wrists and fingers, and spouting unintelligible nonsense. Yuzu biting him would’ve hurt worse.

“Pretty much.” Kurosaki was looking at him curiously, not trying to help his possessed lion. He pulled the pill from its mouth, the toy going limp immediately. Sweet silence. He was probably going to regret this next part though.

“Grimmjow?”

“Does it work on arrancars?”

“WHAT? No! I mean I don’t know—Grimm don’t—”

Too late. Grimmjow figured it was worth a shot; if he died, at least he could say he tried. But it had been six months, surely, he was almost healed right? It didn’t take nearly this long from the wounds Nnoitora gave him, and that had been a neck shot.

He flicked the pill in his mouth and swallowed. He was surprised it was tasteless, but not disappointed. Better that than sour apple, or worse, cherry. Why couldn’t Kiskue make anything meat flavored? That would taste better. Kurosaki was standing over him, fist in his shirt, dragging Grimmjow up with him. His eyes were big and…weird looking? Was he worried? For something he’s done for what, years now? Why should something as simple as this worry him? Unless of course it wasn’t for arrancars.

Briefly, he thought maybe it would be smart to spit the pill out, but he’d have to hit himself embarrassingly hard to cough it up, and also he wasn’t a quitter. Nothing was happening anyway. Maybe Kurosaki could use that weird wooden thing he threw at himself earlier. He flicked his eyes over to the desk where it sat on the corner, next to some book with a skeleton on it. 

Then came the sudden pain in his stomach, right where his hollow hole should be. Ichigo let him go as Grimmjow doubled over, pain coursing through his abdomen, _shit_ was it supposed to feel like his insides were being rearranged? What the _fuck._ He was about to tell Kurosaki to slam that badge down on his back when he was thrown against the wall hard, shaking what little was on the desk behind Kurosaki. For a second, he saw little stars swirling around, body still tense. Slowly he blinked, gathering himself once more, and stood on _not_ shaky legs, thank you. 

Before him, he saw…himself. Well, the gigai Urahara made him wear. So, it had worked. Was it always that painful? Did Kurosaki experience that every damn time? But now he was back in his body, the pain was fading fast. Grimmjow looked down at his body. He could feel his hollow hole in the center of his lower abdomen. The dull, but constant hunger every hollow felt stirred within it. After six months of feeling literally every tiny touch, every change of emotion, this was almost...worse? Was that possible? How could this—could nothing—be worse? He told himself he was just unprepared. He hadn’t actually expected this to work. He could feel the emptiness set in his body like and old friend.

Six fuckin’ months in the damn human body and he was finally healed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuunn!   
> This one is a little shorter, but I'm working on finishing out the rest of the story! I'll try to add them all in one go:) Thanks for the kudos and comments, I really appreciate it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmjow, expelled from his body, is finally healed. Or is he? What happens when Kon has his body, and how does Ichigo feel about it?

“Whoa, you’re shredded man,” he snapped his head up at himself. He really didn’t like how that thing made his body sound, how stupid it made him look. Kurosaki stood wide-eyed and dumb, looking back and forth between the gigai and Grimmjow. He saw him swallow hard. The gigai was touching itself, running long fingers up and down under his shirt. Grimmjow shivered. He’just given his gigai body to a _pervert._

The gigai—Kon was his name, stood up on definitely shaking legs. Then it smiled; Girmmjow’s blood turned to ice.

“Damn I feel great! This is a nice gigai.” Kon said, spreading his—Grimmjows—legs and dipping into a low squat. He did that a few more times. Kurosaki looked…weird. All flushed face and kinda sweaty? And what was with that look? Kon slapped the gigai’s ass. Ichigo looked at Grimmjow, eyes blank, and ran his hands through his hair.

“Good mobility too. Nice and flexible! How about I take this body for a spin—” Kurosaki slammed him into the adjoining wall, right next to his bed, shutting him up for a second. Grimmjow raised an eyebrow at him, and scratched his arm slightly. His skin felt weird.

“How…how do you feel?” he asked, trying to smother the gigai now. He was more worried about what Ichigo would do to his gigai, but Grimmjow stilled, feeling inwardly. Nothing felt out of place, nothing hurt. Guess the poison was finally out of his system. _Probably sooner,_ he thought, remembering Kiskue Urahara was actually a fiend in friendly clothing. Whatever. He was out now, and could focus on… _other_ things. 

Smirk breaking out over his face, he closed the distance between Kurosaki and himself. Creepy animal in his fake body just moved out of the way, knocking into some shelving at the end of the bed, not knowing what to do with the approaching arrancar in his original body.

“Feelin’ good Kurosaki. Let’s test my body out, eh?”

That made his face redden, much to Grimmjow’s delight. _Good._ He could sense the full force of him in this body, smell him too. Did he always smell this good, this enticing? He couldn’t remember him smelling quite like that before. A deep spiced smell, with something kinda citrusy. It made Grimmjows mouth water. Mmmm, he’d probably taste even better. He licked his lips, taking another step, closing the distance until they were nearly chest to chest, Kurosaki backed up against his desk. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, a bead of sweat rolled down his neck. Grimmjow watched its aggravating slow decent below the top of his shirt, right at the base of his neck, as heat stirred around in some _very_ interesting places.

“Does Urahara know you’re healed?”

Tch. What a killjoy. Grimmjow frowned at the name, but didn’t back away.

“Dunno. Probably, knowin’ that bastard.” Grimmjow leaned down slightly, inhaling his scent, letting hot breath ghost across the shell of the other man’s ear. He could hear him swallow again. Maybe he’d bite him, just a little. Leave a mark right where everyone could see. Grimmjow started to snake his arms towards Ichigo’s hips when--

“If you guys are gonna fuck, please don’t make me watch.” Came the voice behind him. Grimmjow turned around, looking at his gigai. He was sitting on the bed now, blinking owlishly at the pair of them, red-faced. He looked so stupid, made Grimmjow’s human body look so stupid; Grimmjow wanted to gut him, but he knew if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to get back in it.

He paused, why did he care if he ever got in it again. He supposed he didn’t mind it; he had gotten kind of use to feeling things again, and he didn’t totally hate it, sometimes. Occasionally. He turned and flipped himself off; Kon just stuck out his tongue and flung himself over the entire bed, arching his back suggestively and wiggling his hips. Grimmjow growled.

“So _Ku-ro-sa-ki_ , still wanna get with this now that I’m—” Grimmjow registered something flying past him, and hitting the gigai in the forehead. The pill popped out of his mouth a second later. _Thank God_. He needed to erase all trace of that demonic creature in his gigai from his memory as soon as possible. Walking over to the sill body on the bed he looked at it closely. It was weird looking at himself without his mask, something he still hadn’t quite gotten used to. He brushed his fingers over the jawbone on his cheek. Still there. Teeth dangerously pointed and razor sharp.

The hierro covering his body felt itchy. It almost made him ache. He had the vague sense of something brushing up against his arm. He turned back to Kurosaki, who had composed himself somewhat, his face no longer flushed. _Damn._

“Can you feel that?”

Grimmjow snorted. Obviously, Kurosaki thought hierro was literally a numbing sensation on his skin, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but it was way more complicated than that. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah.” Kurosaki was a dumbass. He just fuckin’ kept _petting_ his arm like a big moron who didn’t know what to do with his hands. Grimmjow had about enough, it was making his skin itch even more at the contact, and he didn’t _like_ it. Something was still off; his hierro had never itched before. Forcing himself not to rub over the nearest hard surface like a mangy animal, the itching turned to burning the longer he pushed off the desire. Grimmjows fingers twitched.

“How do I get back in this?”

Kurosaki’s mouth fell open. Grimmjow rolled his eyes, but silently agreed. He couldn’t believe his own words. Why did he want to get back in the gigai? He hated it didn’t he? Made him feel too much, think too much. He hated both of those things, right?

“Uhh…you just…put your hand on it and kinda…pour your energy into it.” Kurosaki said after a minute of confused silence. His hand was still on his arm, like he was afraid he would just out and disappear. Leaving the dead gigai in his bed.

_Real insightful, dipshit._ Grimmjow did as he said though, imagining his energy leaving his own body, and flowing into the dead thing in front of him. Grimmjow could’ve sworn he saw a swirling blue reiatsu around the body and blinked. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he did, he was staring at the ceiling. Back in the gigai already, huh? Whatever. He could feel the sheets beneath him, the fake heart in the gigai beat, a chilly breeze blow through Kurosaki’s slightly open window. His skin didn’t itch anymore. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. At least getting back in it didn’t hurt. His fingers tingled with the remnants of the energy flow.

He felt like he could sleep for days, this body suddenly so heavy, had something like this drained him this much? Maybe he really wasn’t completely healed yet. Maybe if he could deactivate the hierro somehow? Or at least make it stop that horrible itching. Was something like that even possible? He’d have to ask Kiskue, if anyone could figure it out, it was him. 

Then came the hand in his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. Grimmjow could’ve sworn his fake heart damn near stopped.

“How does this feel?” Ichigo used the same voice he used on Yuzu earlier. Soft, fond. Like he wasn’t a monster that could rip his throat out with his teeth. What was the ginger idiot _doing?_ And _why_ did he like it _so_ _damn much._ Grimmjow’s body relaxed, almost against his will, fingers still running through his hair. Good thing Kiskue had told him to use water instead of saliva to style his hair this morning. Like the bastard _knew._

Grimmjow grunted a reply, eyes fluttering closed. The hand stopped. Blue eyes snapped open, glaring at Kurosaki. He didn’t say he could _stop._ If Girmmjow was going to offer a moment of vulnerability to the one person in this godforsaken world who wouldn’t stab him in the back, he was gonna damn well do it for more than three fuckin’ seconds. Grimmjow pushed his head into the still there palm, slightly, trying to not feel ashamed at willingly _asking_ for more contact like a big dumbass. He could see Kurosaki almost glowing at the silent request.

\----------------------------------

Ichigo was confused. To be fair, Ichigo generally flitted about in at least a slight state of confusion. Such was his life for the past…five years or so? Ever since the initial _Rukia_ incident, he’d been confused. But this was something new entirely. Why would Grimmjow _willingly_ go back into his gigai? He’d thought the one thing on his mind was to get out of it and go back home to Hueco Mundo. He just humored all of Ichigo’s physical contact advancement, stuff. Yeah, that’s all it was.

Unless something was wrong? Had he lied and said he was fine? Was the poison still in his system? Come to think of he, he did look kinda uncomfortable. Oh God, what if he was dying? He couldn’t die, Ichigo wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Oh _damnit_ when did he start caring so much? When did he notice that Grimmjows eye’s weren’t just blue, but three different shades of teal, none of them being the color of his estigma? Or that whenever he got really irritated it was always his right eye that twitched, never the left? He was supposed to have the realizations when he was safe in his room and _alone_ damnit, not when Grimmjow looked like he was gonna fall asleep in his bed!

Ichigo just looked at the body on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts spinning around his head like a storm at sea. He looked tired. Would now be a bad time to touch his hair again? Would it make him feel better? It would certainly make Ichigo feel better. Maybe just a little. If he looked like he was gonna flip out he would stop, even _apologize._

He rubbed his fingers through the others hair gently at first, then scratched across his scalp a little harder. Grimmjow’s breath hitched, almost imperceptivity.

“How does this feel?” he didn’t appear to hate his life at the moment, so that must be a good early sign. Ichigo hoped he didn’t sound as strained as he certainly felt. _Che_ , he was going to be constipated for a whole week after this.

Girmmjow just grunted, closing his eyes. Ichigo stopped for a moment, awestruck. Was he really just gonna fall asleep in his bed? Where was Ichigo going to sleep? Like hell he’d sleep in his closet, and he certainly wouldn’t sleep in one of those uncomfortable little hospital beds; he couldn’t fit! They probably had a spare futon, right? He couldn’t remember for the life of him. Didn’t Yuzu say something about a futon in a closet? They had a closet right? Like in the hallway? His head felt fuzzy.

Grimmjow was glaring at him with narrowed eyes, the usual wrinkle in his brow. Then he turned in to Ichigos hand, and butted his hand. He wanted Ichigo to keep going. Oh. Oh OH Ichigo was going to die right there on the floor. Crumple up like a sad, horny little leaf that got stepped on by a vengeful middle school kid. He just knew it. His heart was going to explode. Yuzu would cry. Again. He was sure she’d already cried once today about something.

Ichigo started moving his fingers again, standing over the man like an idiot, not knowing what to do with the rest of his body. Should he kneel? Would that be too close? Should he keep standing? What if he fell asleep? Could he use both hands? Would that be too much? Would Girmmjow bite him again if he used both hands?

“Talk too much, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow slurred out, one eye open, looking at him with a sleepy expression. He looked so _soft_ when he wasn’t scowling. Wait. Had he been talking aloud? Were those inside thoughts accidently on the outside? _Oh fuck._ Ichigo’s face flushed a brilliant shade of red, he was sure. Now he really was going to die. Right here in his room with Grimmjow in a gigai and Kon’s pill…. somewhere. He hoped Orihime would give a nice eulogy. 

“Use both hands.”

 _Oh._ Ichigo’s heart stopped. Or it was beating so fast it felt like it wasn’t going at all. That was a thing right?

Well, that solves that problem at least. Gingerly, not wanting Grimmjow to change his mind, Ichigo sat on the edge of the bed, close to his left arm, and ran his other hand through blue hair. He still couldn’t get over how soft it was. Unbelievable. Some people got all the luck, while Ichigo got stuck with no facial hair genes, hair as course as a goats beard, and he blamed Isshin completely, the bastard. 

Grimmjow immediately blissed out, a pleasant sigh escaping from his lips before he could stop it. Ichigo dug his fingers in a little harder, and Grimmjow turned into it even more, like there was a spot he _really_ wanted Ichigo to get at. He scooted a little closer, trying to get more of his hair between his greedy fingers. If there was a sweet spot, he would definitely find it, already enthralled with the pleasured look on Grimmjow’s angled face. God he was so handsome. He swore he got better looking every time he looked. Grimmjow was breathing heavier almost panting. Ichigo felt a pinch on his hip; looking down, he had snaked his arm around Ichigo, and rested his hand on him. Like he didn’t want him to leave.

_Oh boy._

Ichigo kept going, leaning closer, getting his hand behind the other’s ears. He wanted to find… _something_. There must be a more sensitive spot there somewhere. Those were a thing right? Like everyone had a some weirdo turn-on spot somewhere? He just _knew_ his would be in his hair. It had to be.

Bingo. Grimmjow let out a noise that was _obscene_. Low, breathy and hitched, his eyes shot open, hand dug into the flesh at his hip, and looked at Ichigo who was a few inches from his face. The lightest pink dusted the arrancars face in the fading daylight offered through the half open window. His eyes were wide; Ichigo realized immediately that he wasn’t supposed to hear that sound. That was a private sound, meant for private times. He let his hands drift to the side of his face, trying to calm down the other, or was it teasing? Ichigo wasn’t quite sure. Grimmjow moved his head, trying to trick Ichigo’s fingers into running over that spot again, eyes lidded, chest heaving. _Kinky._

“I…Ichi..go…”

His hands stopped moving altogether. Had Grimmjow just called him by his first name? While he was in Ichigo’s bed? It was a whisper, an almost silent prayer. Blue eyes staring up at him with…something he couldn’t quite decipher. The hand at his hip slid under his shirt and ran long fingers across his side.

Ichigo didn’t know what came over him, but he found himself pressing his lips against the other mans. He was so _warm,_ so _alive_. He tasted slightly of something sour. Candy maybe? Ichigo scratched behind his ears once more, and harder this time. Grimmjow moaned, openmouthed into the kiss, arching his back slightly, their tongues meeting briefly. Ichigo bit down on his bottom lip, and sucked lightly, running his hands through Grimmjows scalp once more, making sure to avoid _that_ spot. He could feel the other vibrate with a low growl from the depths of his throat. It wasn’t like any other growl he’d heard from him. This was _primal_. Full of need and want. The hand at Ichigo’s hip dug into flesh painfully, riding up his shirt slightly. _Who’s the bottom now,_ Ichigo thought absently, as he ran a hand down the mans face, thumbing over his cheek, to his jaw, where his mask should be.

Using his right hand to get at the sensitive spot, Ichigo grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. Grimmjow’s moan was lost in Ichigo’s hungry mouth again, face slightly flushed, eyes closing completely once more. Would he do that _every damn time?_ Ichigo pulled away and trailed his lips up Grimmjow’s jawline, tongue flicking out across salty skin of his jaw until he met the man’s ear. Biting down on the soft skin and tugging, the hand at Ichigo’s hip tightened, holding him in place, leaning over Grimmjow’s muscular form. Left hand left hair and brushed fingertips against the thick column of Grimmjow’s neck, feeling the taught muscles straining, trying to keep those beautiful noises from escaping. Ichigo tugged the hair again, fingers squeezing against Grimmjow’s throat, feeling the strangled sound behind blunt nails, sending heat straight to his groin. He smiled into the side of Grimmjows face, he could listen to those sounds all day.

The hand at his hip, digging in almost painfully. It would probably bruise, but it was oh so worth it. Ichigo switched hands, the left now caught up in soft blue strands while his dominant hand drug down his chest, flicking a finger across a nipple he could feel hardening underneath the thin fabric of his shirt, fingertips brushed over Grimmjow’s muscled chest through his shirt. Kon was right, he _was_ shredded. He fisted a hand in his collar and crashed his lips back on the arrancars, pulling again hair the sensitive spot right behind his ear. He arched his back, allowing Ichigo to get a better angle into the wetness of his hot mouth, slipping his tongue inside to taste him, flicking across sharp fangs. Maybe Ichigo could get him to say his name again, _that_ would be nice. His right-hand drug lower, lower, past his belly button and to the draw strings of his pants. Maybe this would…

“Looks like you two are getting along quite well today~~~” sing-songed from behind him. Ichigo’s eyes shot open; he could almost hear the waving of that bastards cursed fan. Grimmjow bit down hard on Ichigo’s tongue still invading his mouth. Hand on his hip dug in, nearly drawing blood and a fist smashed right into Ichigo’s temple, throwing him off Grimmjow completely, and onto the hard floor, blood dripping out of his mouth. Dazed Ichigo just sat there for a moment, head throbbing, stars twinkling painfully before his eyes.

That was Urahara’s voice wasn’t it? Why was he here? He barely registered Grimmjow getting up until a strong hand clamed down on his shoulder and shoved him over, knocking his already aching head onto the floor. _Can’t I have one side not hurt?_

“You certainly don’t need to stop on _my_ account.” That didn’t seem to be aimed at him. Feet stomped past the grating voice of the shopkeeper. Ichigo was still laying on the floor, blinking dumbly up at Urahara, ass in the air. He saw Kon’s pill glinting in the light that reached under his bed. So _that’s_ where the pill had landed. Briefly, Ichigo wondered if Kon could still hear everything that went on outside that little pill. Would he have to answer some uncomfortable questions coming from a stuffed lion as well? Praying to the soul kings ugly face, he certainly hoped not.

“You certainly were taking advantage of a sensitive situation, dear I-chi-go~”

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

He was right.

Human, Soul Reaper, Arrancar, it didn’t matter, he didn’t _ask,_ just let his _other_ head take over. Palms covered his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. His _shame_. He had tried, was going too… _ohmygod._ Grimmjow seemed like he was in a weird headspace and Ichigo had just…just kissed him. Forced himself on him. His hands were going to his pants for shit’s sake! Ichigo barely registered the slamming of the door downstairs, signaling _someone_ had left in a foul mood.

“Well, at least we know he’s fully healed now, though I wasn’t quite expecting _that_ when I opened your door.” Ichigo glared over at Urahara who was still standing in the doorway, door half ajar. He shifted until his back was against the side his bed and put his hands on his head, between his knees. He felt like he was going to throw up. Urahara, at least, seemed to roll with the punches, for what little that was worth.

“I did knock.”

He didn’t answer, sitting here like the idiot he was. He’d fucked everything up because he couldn’t keep to himself and let his stupid hormones take over. Grimmjow was pissed, gone, and it was all his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooo things are heating up a little bit, huh? One more chapter to go!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmjow left after that little...incident, and a month has passed Ichigo by. Urahara has a plan, but nobody knows what it is unti it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how sometimes when you do something dumb, and then you decide you need to punish yourself because of your own stupidity? Yeah, that's Ichigo, except like, worse.

A month passed Ichigo by while he was wallowing in his self-inflicted pity party of one. Grimmjow had disappeared, back to Hueco Mundo. Ichigo wasn’t even sure if they were _friends_ let alone if Grimmjow felt like _that_ towards him. He was ashamed of himself. Self-control was his _thing,_ damnit _,_ so then _why_ did he basically force himself on Grimmjow? Sure, he seemed into it at the time, but he hadn’t gotten a clear yes from the blue haired arrancar. If it wasn’t clear, it was a _no_ and Ichigo _knew that._ Disgusted with himself, Ichigo barely got out of the house since the incident. He deserved to be holed up in the room like a dirty, bastard, beast. He had even sent Rukia away, the couple times she’d tried to visit him.

But he couldn’t stay locked up forever. Urahara texted him a lot to try and talk, or texted his father. Or Karin. Seriously, when did he get Karin’s number, the creep. All in an effort to get him to talk. Had Grimmjow really told him nothing? Ichigo wasn’t quite sure what exactly their relationship was built on, but he didn’t think it was trust.

It was Yuzu who convinced him to get out of the house. And to go replenish her stash of candy, no less. Ichigo had said no when she asked the first time. She used the equivalent of the ‘Please? For me?” meme on him, big puppy dog eyes and all. She even snuck a few crocodile tears in there; now he was going to replenish her stash of bastard candy from the bastard man himself. He even showered for the occasion. _Yippdy-fucking-do._

He really wanted to blame Urahara for keeping Grimmjow around for so long. Letting Ichigo get all gross and attached to the bulking idiot. He had learned Grimmjow was fine after _three_ damn months. _Three_. But Urahara hadn’t kissed and fondled, and scratched the sweet spot behind his ears until he’d nearly come undone right below him without permission. So Ichigo was back to blaming himself.

Ichigo had tried his best to ignore the shopkeeper for the past month. It was just better that way. He thought Ichigo was a dirty, bastard man who took advantage of people, even if…. No. He shook his head, trying to rid those vile thoughts from rising and not succeeding. Grimmjow saying Ichigo’s name still echoed in his dreams, awful, wonderful, _sinful_ dreams. Too bad those dreams were all he was every gonna have of the man. Just as well.

Snow was beginning to fall; and while Karakura didn’t get a lot of snow per year, the weather stations all agreed this year would be a little different because _of course they would be_. Ichigo shivered and pulled his jacket closer, flipping the hood over his obnoxious hair. The sooner he could get the candy, the sooner he could go home. Maybe Jinta would ring him up today; that would be nice for a change. He never thought he’d rather see _Jinta’s_ mug over the nosey shopkeeper. It was a doubtful occurrence but hope was a little _bitch with teeth_.

He stood outside the shoten for about 10 minutes, _thinking_ for all the good it did him now. Would Grimmjow ever come back? Had Urahara said anything to him once he got back to the shoten? Urahara probably knew something regardless, because he was a spying _pervert_. He’d probably had Ichigo's room bugged for fucking _years_ at this point. But being a pervert was better than being someone who took what they wanted; consent be damned _._

“You can come in, you know.” Urahara said, opening the door and smiling at him. Ichigo almost turned around and ran down the street like a fucking coward. Yuzu could get her own candy now and forever more. Hell, he’d call Jinta and have him bring it over himself; he’d love it—probably hug Ichigo. He was perfectly happy holed up in his room like a gremlin, only coming out to eat and shower. At least he’d gotten through the rest of that damn online class. Ichigo stepped into the warmth of the shop. This winter was going to be _cold_ in more ways than one.

He just stood there, like a dumbass. Eying the rows of candy like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Lots of chocolate things—he loved chocolate, but had sworn it off as punishment forever. He was no longer allowed pleasure; he obviously couldn’t handle it. But it did look inviting. Urahara must’ve had some special candy for the holidays, he noticed, spying a few extra cases.

Ichigo swallowed hard. He just needed to get Yuzu’s stupid candy and get out. That weird gummy candy he knew Urahara put some reishi in, so Yuzu could see him and Rukia and every horrible hollow that came by. She was thrilled, Ichigo less so. But he did like that she could see and hear him in his soul form. He’d get her some chocolate too maybe. She liked chocolate almost as much as Ichigo did. _At least one of us can enjoy ourselves,_ he thought bitterly.

Urahara just stood there staring at him. The shop was decorated for the holidays coming up, some ribbons twirled around different cases, bows stuck on stuff. The works. Urahara didn’t have on a santa hat yet, so maybe he wouldn’t go overboard this year. Ichigo thought he heard a thump of something in the adjacent room. Probably Jinta teasing Ururu again. He was relentless. Ichigo didn’t know how Ururu hadn’t killed him yet; she damn well could, she was definitely strong enough.

“I suppose you’re hear to get something for Miss Yuzu?” Urahara asked, snapping Ichigo out of his thoughts.

“Uh…yeah. Those gummy things. With reishi.” _What a thrilling conversation,_ he thought as he walked among the candy aisles, looking at the newer chocolates. He wanted to go home so he could mope some more, as pathetic as he was. He was acting absolutely ridiculous, and he damn well knew it. Yet, he did nothing to stop it. He deserved everything he was getting. More thumping inside the house. What the hell was going on? It sounded like someone was wrestling a wild animal in the house part of the shop.

“Quit it Grimm! You’re ruining my hair! Yuzu will never—” then a crash, and yelling.

Grimmjow.

He was here? How long had he been back? Did he ever leave? Urahara said he went back to Hueco Mundo, left his gigai in the room they let him have. But Urahara was known for being a genius, not for being _truthful._ He was back, and he was _wrestling?_ With _Jinta?_ What the hell? Ichigo stood there, frozen to the spot on the floor between the cash register and a container of chocolate, wrapped to look like little slices of oranges. He swallowed. Should he say something? Did Urahara hear that too?

“You can go in, you know,” said beside him, fan nowhere to be seen. His eyes were sharp and serious for once. Ichigo averted his gaze, remembering the way Grimmjow had left. Slammed him into the floor, left the house without saying a word. Maybe Ichigo should’ve went after him.

No. There’s no one in that room that would be happy to see him. It was for the best. Those six months were good, until he had ruined them. He just wanted to get the candy and get out.

Urahara had the bag of candy in his hand. _Damn he was fast._ Ichigo slapped some money on the counter next to the register and reached out for the candy, almost home free.

“Thought I smelled a little bitch in here,” a voice said, sliding the door open roughly, making it rock on its little tracked path. He wasn’t in his gigai. Black jumpsuit zipped down far enough he could see the top of his hollow hole, jacket absent from his shoulders, showing off his bare arms. He was kinda sweaty, neck glistening in the artificial light of the candy shop. Ichigo’s fingers twitched as he smiled weakly.

“Hi Grimmjow.”

\---------------------------------

Grimmjow had left soon after that little _incident_ with Kurosaki. Who knew he could feel stuff like _that?_ Who knew _Ichigo_ could do that to him? And damn Urahara for barging in and stopping him when things were getting good. And the shopkeeper had still gotten back to the shop before him. How was that even possible?

“Well, it certainly looks like you had fun.” Kiskue said, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting his gaze with a cheeky grin. _Of fuckin’ course he had a hard on,_ did he not see what Kurosaki was doing to him? Damn, he almost creamed his pants in this sensitive as _fuck_ gigai. _That_ would have been embarrassing as _hell_ and Grimmjow wasn’t about to be _that_ vulnerable with Kurosaki. All he could do was growl at the man, and change the subject, hoping the bodily reaction to Kurosaki’s ministrations would leave soon.

“How long ‘ave you known.”

Kiskue’s gaze steeled immediately. He could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.

“Three months.”

Grimmjow sucked in an angry breath to steady himself. He’d figured as much. Bastard was always up to something behind that goofy façade.

“You seemed like you were having fun these few months,” the shopkeeper offered, a genuine look of apology on his face. _Dick_.

“I didn’t ask.” Grimmjow shot back. He vaguely wondered if the deal was still on after all this _shit_ with Kurosaki. The way he figured, Kiskue would probably want him gone as soon as possible after seeing earlier. Arrancars and Soul Reapers weren’t exactly on the best terms; this wasn’t exactly a point saying otherwise, even if Grimmjow had enjoyed it.

“So what now?” Grimmjow absently wondered if should’ve left in such a rush. Maybe he should’ve just told Urahara to _fuck the fuck_ off and let Kurosaki continue…whatever the hell he’d been doing.

“How did your body feel?”

“Itchy.” A beat. Grimmjow wondered if he should even bother asking about the other thing. Maybe it would be best to leave it alone. He shrugged, couldn’t possibly fuck it up anymore than had been done. His body was relaxing a little, arousal fading.

“Wondered if I could dull my hierro, feel more things in my body.” He shrugged, trying to make it like it wasn’t a big deal, even if it was a _fuckin huge one_. 

“Wanting to get down and dirty in your actual body. _Kinky._ ” Kiskues eyes were relaxed again. And that comment, however irritating _and maybe a little true_ , calmed Grimmjow some. Of course, he didn’t care what he and Ichigo did—hell, he was practically trying to get them on at _least_ friendly terms for the majority of Grimmjow’s gigai lockdown.

“Tch.” What a bunch of morons they all were. Oh well, he figured it would all work out, he had nothing but time now, though he needed to work out a few details of his deal with Kiskue. Grimmjow spied two silver little tools on the low table by the couch, and got an idea. He walked over to the table stiffly, _damn_ these pants were a little tight now. If anyone walked in they’d be getting and eyeful. Whatever. He had better things to do. He grabbed the tools and held them out to Kiskue, who was quirking an eyebrow.

“Teach me how to use these.”

……..

Now Grimmjow stood in front of Ichigo in his actual body, no longer itchy, no longer numb. He looked like _shit_. Man, maybe a month was too long, huh? What a little _bitch_. Kiskue had said to give him some time to stew, _"_ _Distance makes the heart grow fonder~~"_ but his advice was usually 50/50. He walked away from the door, and back to Jinta who had worked up quite a sweat, underarms of his cutoff shirt darkened with wetness. Grimmjow sniffed the air.

“Take a shower you shithead, you smell like ass.”

“I do not, this is the smell of a man!” Jinta puffed out his chest, hands fisted at his hips. Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

“Ass is not a manly smell~” Oh he hated it when Kiskue talked like that. He turned his head to look at the annoying shopkeeper, trademark fan hiding half his face. Ichigo had wandered into the room, puffy black coat still on, still looking like he had a stick stuffed up the entirety of his ass and then some. Moping bastard. Ururu walked into the room, holding her nose and glaring at Jinta.

“Jinta, you smell really bad, when was the last time you showered.” She looked between him and the Urahara briefly before turning her attention back to the red-head. He stuck his tongue out at her, and flipped her off. Looks like Grimmjow was rubbing off on him.

“Oh shuddap Ururu,” he quipped, “I don’t take orders from you!” Grimmjow was sure he’d get an earful for that exchange later, having said the same thing himself multiple times. Groaning internally, he pushed the heal of one palm to and eye, trying to rub his away growing irritation.

“I’m hiding all of your socks until you shower,” Ururu said before running off in socked feet, towards the brats room.

“No!” He chased after her. Grimmjow could hear them argue all the way down the hall until a door slammed.

Well, at least they were distracted now. Kiskue cleared his throat, bringing attention to himself. Both men turned to him.

“While I have the both of you here, there’s something important I need to discuss,” goofy smile disappearing as soon as the kids left. Grimmjow stilled, that was never a good thing coming from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ichigo stiffen. 

Was it something with Hueco Mundo? Grimmjow had been back a couple times, certifying his position as a sort of go between the world of the living and Hueco Mundo. Mostly Kiskue was interested in Quincy artifacts left behind in the sands of the eternal night desert. In return, the remaining arrancar, so long as they didn’t disobey the treaty, could get certain items from Kiskue the bastards in the soul society wouldn’t hand out so easily.

“Please follow me.” Kiskue led the way down the hall, towards his little science lab. Grimmjow shivered, it reminded him too much of the 8th espadas lab, just less…. creepy. If that was possible. Szayelapparo had everyone outdone in the creep department the big freak. The scientist turned shopkeeper stopped in front of a door. And motioned for Kurosaki to open it.

“Please, after you Ichigo.” Saying nothing, Ichigo opened the door; Grimmjow followed with Kiskue’s ushering, stopping short just beyond the archway.

“Urahara, this is a closet—”

A strong hand on his back pushed with surprising strength, and Grimmjow was shoved in, right after Ichigo, forcing him against the wall in the cramped little closet. The men slid to the floor as they tripped over each other’s feet; Grimmjow ended up kneeling over Kuroski’s legs, chests a few inches apart. 

“Oh _dear_. You see, this closet has a sticky lock. I’d _really appreciate_ it if you boys could take a look at it for me.” A clink of something small and metal dropped to the floor and slid under the door.

So that was his plan, huh? Lock them both in the closet until they kiss and made up? The bastard.

Ichigo was breathing heavy beneath him, breath hot and quick against the bareness of his unzippered chest. Grimmjow could actually _feel_ it, just like in the gigai body. It was _amazing_. Be even better if Ichigo wasn’t starting to panic under him. _This_ _is what happens when you’re the soul societies little bitch, you dumbass,_ Grimmjow wanted to tell him. He was still flipping the absolute _fuck_ out about what happened nearly a month ago. Still, the thought that the ginger cared to such extremes was…nice. No one had ever cared that much before.

“Grimmjow, I’m—”

Kiskue really wasn’t shitting him; Kurosaki really beat himself up for a month straight as words tumbled out of the gingers mouth. What a moron. All for what, a kiss, a little hair pulling? Grimmjow could think of much more entertaining things they could be doing if they weren’t stuck in a damn close, teenagers and Urahara prowling around like bloodhounds. At least in his actual body, he could see in the dark, could see every detail of Ichigo squirming beneath him, how his eyes flicked around, looking for something to focus on in the absolute darkness, fists clenching and unclenching like he wanted so _badly_ to hold onto something, someone. But he refused. _Damn, this guy really does have a heart of gold huh._

“You’re such a little shit.” Grimmjow said, almost fond, before he could stop himself. “Freakin’ the absolute _fuck_ out because of what?”

“Grimmjow, I just—”

“ _Let your instincts take control_.” Grimmjow breathed into Kurosaki’s open mouth. He flicked a tongue over his bottom lip. Kurosaki’s breath hitched in his throat, a small whine hissing between his clenched teeth.

“Forgot you were such a _gentleman_ ,” he lazed, taking a long lick up his jawline, Kurosaki shivered.

“It’s…not…I—” Grimmjow nibbled a little underneath his ear, feeling the other man shudder slightly at the action.

“Tch. There’s nothing you could do to make me fuck off to Hueco Mundo forever.” He admitted, pausing at that, unsticking his mouth from Ichigo’s jaw slowly. He leaned into him, pressing their foreheads together, trying to keep contact as long as possible. Kurosaki was making this so _easy._ Dipping his head, Grimmjow drug a sharp canine across the plump bottom lip in front of him. Were mouths always this soft? Was Grimmjow’s mouth that soft? Feeling things in his actual body was so much _better_ , even if they were stuck in this shitty little closet.

“Unless, that’s what you were wanting.” Grimmjow teased, putting distance between Kurosaki’s lips and his teeth. Kissing him, pulling his hair, giving him a hard on….none of that screamed _fuck off._ Didn't even whisper it.

He pushed his hands against the wall, on either side of the other man’s head, pinning him against the wall, and watched his reaction. Eyes wide, brows furrowed, mouth opening and shutting a couple times, like he had trouble forming thoughts in that stupid orange head of his. His breath still hitting the exposed skin on Grimmjow’s chest.

“What? No! I mean—why would I—”

Grimmjow couldn’t take it anymore. Too much talk, too little contact. They could talk later, talk for hours, he didn’t give a shit. Grimmjow put one hand around Kurosaki’s throat and squeezed slightly, making sure not to cut off any circulation. He was still in his human body, after all. He could see the ginger’s eyes widen, pupils dialating, and lick his lips. _That_ was a much better reaction. He leaned down and bit on the soft plush of his lips again, drawing just a little blood this time. Oh he tasted _good_. Better than good.

He squeezed his hand a little harder, forcing a soft moan to escape from Kurosaki’s tight throat, feeling the way his Adams apple undulated under his palm as he swallowed hard. Grimmjow loved the way his skin rolled against his own, loved the feeling of getting _that_ kind of reaction. He pushed the full force of his lips against the other mans, hand still holding onto his throat, tasting nothing but Ichigo. He still had a spiced smell mixed with citrus, it was stronger in here, their bodies pushed closer together. He felt Kurosaki’s arms touch him, hesitant at first, wrapping around his body, hands gingerly resting on his back. To _hell_ with this timid shit.

“If ya don’t start actually touchin’ me, I’ll choke the life outta ya.” Grimmjow growled into the other mans mouth. Blunt fingernails dug into the fabric at his back, as he felt Kurosaki loosen up and smirk into the kiss.

“Think I might like that, actually.”

Grimmjow let out a small chuckle.

“Kinky.”

No more talking. Grimmjow sat back on his heels, pulling Kurosaki towards him by his neck, other hand curled on the back of his head, pressing their lips together with more force. Grimmjow slid his tongue into the cavern of his mouth, wanting, needing to taste every bit of him. Creating a memory map of Ichigo’s mouth, the wet muscle inside, starting to wrestle with his own. He gave Kurosaki’s neck another squeeze, keeping his fingers wrapped around tight, creating a nice pressure holding him in place. Moaning into Grimmjow’s mouth, his tongue faltered, throat strained underneath him. Girmmjow used this advantage to explore the rest of his mouth before extracting himself, leaning down, and biting the soft flesh of his neck, nibbling on the left side above his fingers.

Ichigo pulled himself closer, nearly bucking his hips into Grimmjow.

“Wouldn’t ‘ave thought _this_ was your thing.” He murmured into the mans neck, sucking hard enough to form a bruise. _Good_. Ichigo let out a strangled sound, hands moving to Grimmjow’s hips, holding hard, like he was afraid he would up and leave again.

Grimmjow shifted his legs, putting one knee right between Ichigo’s legs, rubbing up against a suspiciously hardening member underneath his pants. He pressed harder, grinding his knee into his groin, and squeezed his neck a little more. Head falling back, a loud moan escaped his mouth. Grimmjow could feel himself getting hard just by listening to him. Strong hands around his waist pulled Grimmjow closer, forcing his knee even more between his legs.

“Grimm…”

Ichigo was panting, breath hot in Grimmjows scalp as he buried his face into his hair.

“Want me to stop?” he mouthed into the base of Kurosaki’s throat, licking once, twice, in the hollow of his neck. He bit down gently right above his collar bone, hoping to create another mark. 

“Mmmmm…”

Grimmjow stopped, pushed Ichigo off him slightly, staring directly in his honeyed eyes, sharp with a mischievous glint.

“That wasn’t an answer," he teased, thumbing both hands over the tense muscle of Ichigo's neck.

Hands in his hair, sweeping right over _that_ spot, grabbing a handful and pulling his head back. Grimmjow's fingers loosed around him as he let his head be pulled back, sending an aroused spark right down his spine. 

“Ba..bastard,” Grimmjow breathed out, trying to steady himself, hovering over Ichigo now, foreheads nearly touching. _Cheap move_ , he thought, biting down the moan threatening to escape from his lips. He pressed his knee harder, right into the now evident bulge in Kurosaki’s pants, flexing his fingers over a perspiring neck.

“Ah…G…Grimmjow,” he whined, hands letting go of sensitive strands of hair. _You’re the bottom this time, bitch,_ he thought as he crashed his lips down on Ichigo's, biting and sucking at any skin he could get at. 

Grimmjow let his one hand untangle from Kurosaki’s neck, trace undefined shapes across his chest. _Tch._ He still had on that bulky coat he was wearing when he entered the shoten, and it was in the _way_ , damnit. But he would ignore it for now. Letting his hand roam down farther, down to the dip of his navel, where he slipped a hand under his shirt, and slithered up once more; finding the hardness of one nipple he gave it a pinch. Ichigo moaned again, voice quivering against Grimmjows throat, hot, damp, breath running across the column of his neck; he bucked his hips against an unyielding knee, grinding hard up against Grimmjow. He teased the taut nipple again and squeezed. Another filthy noise escaped past Ichigo’s lips.

Grimmjow couldn’t help but smirk devilishly at the reactions. 

“If you have sex in that closet, I’m gonna take a big shit in your bed!” came Jinta’s voice from the other side of the wall. Ichigo froze beneath him, Grimmjow could feel the heat rising and radiating off his face. _Damn that Jinta, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill’em._ What a shitty time for him to actually _listen_ and take a shower, the little bastard. Ururu must’ve gotten all his socks this time. Was _everyone_ in this damned house fucked up? Apparently. Way to kill the mood.

Ichigo was still panting beneath him, but slightly more controlled. Reluctantly, Grimmjow released his hands from the the mans neck, leaned back, and they both sat there, letting each other breathe. Grimmjow felt the coldness of the silver tools long forgotten on the floor beneath his hand. He reached up and jiggled the doorknob. Huh, guess it really was sticky. Or Kiskue locked the damned thing from the outside. That was the more likely option. He growled internally; that little bit of foreplay had been fun, but it was too cramped to do much else. 

Grimmjow turned around, still kneeling, and maneuvered the little tools in the keyhole. He could feel Kurosaki behind him, closer now, a hand holding onto his shoulder, breath ghosting down his neck, trying to see what he was doing in the darkness. He worked silently for a couple minutes, distracted by the ginger squeezing fingers into the flesh of his bare shoulder, before the door clicked. Twisting the knob again, the door gave way and opened out into the hallway. Light poured into the hallway and Grimmjow turned, grinning at Kurosaki.

His lips were red, a little swollen, a bit of blood in the corner from the biting earlier, and his mouth was gaping. Still flushed a light pink too.

“Wha—How? When did you learn to pick locks?” He looked so dumb with those wide brown eyes. It made Grimmjow want to kiss him again.

“What like it’s hard? Maybe you just suck ass at it.” Grimmjow would never admit he’d been practicing for a whole _fuckin_ month.

Ichigo punched him arm playfully. “You’re such a dick.”

“Speaking of sucking, I’ve got an idea.” Grimmjow tugged at his coat sleeve, pulling them both up and out of the closet. Standing in the hallway now, they just looked at each other. Underneath Kurosaki's coat, his shirt was wrinkled and twisted. Grimmjow moved the bulk of the coat away from his neck, fingering over a now purpling bruise at the side of his neck and pinched it slightly. Ichigo clamped a hand down on top of his, rubbing a thumb over the top of his hand softly. Grimmjow watched as a big dumb smile broke out across his reddning face.

Leading Ichigo down the hallway and turning to the first door on the left, he opened it. Absently, Grimmjow noticed a stray bag of candy on the floor, that gummy shit little Lemon Kurosaki liked. So that’s why he was here. He grinned wickedly as he pulled Ichigo to him, biting down once more on the side of the ginger’s neck.

 _Sorry kid, I gotta get my fix first,_ he thought as he pulled Ichigo into the room and slammed the door behind him. Yeah, she could definitely wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely the hardest chapter to write, since it’s my first time writing anything even remotely smutty. Ichigo seems like the kind of person who really would take a negative experience and absolutely blow it out of proportion and punish himself. Is it healthy? Probably not, but no one can say he doesn't care.  
> This was supposed to be more of a light-hearted story; I've read quite a bit of angsty stuff, and while I really love them, I just wanted something kinda light, you know?  
> I hope this was as much fun to read as it was to write! :):):)


End file.
